Mr. Rapture - We Gonna Rock lyrics

Never send a boy to do a man's job You know? I think we got away from what the f** this is all about We forgot - how to spit Muthaf**as is makin all these crazy-a** f**in records Stop puttin your dirty laundry out in the street, muthaf**a Follow me now f** with me [ VERSE 1 ] Sammy Sosa slugger, hip-hop n***a, touch em all Some cute, but s** em all, I say f** em all Eat a dick too, soloist choose another route G.H. form now, go and break my brother out Henny out the bottle, n***a, eyes low in the truck Nothin but that good smoke, hydro in the dutch Ain't no probably, Sauce Money, fool, got to be Chicken eggs grits, California, call it Oscar E Everything I spit hot, baby boy, you're kiddin me? Hit Flex with it, Stretch with it, then Mr. Cee Marley Marl Sunday night, can't forget Kid Capri Hit the turnpike where all my n***as down in Philly be Just pa**in through, son, still many guns to co*k 30 miles from the bridge where anyone can cop Chillin at my b**h crib, sip plenty rum and scotch Put it in the air for them n***as Biggie, Pun and Pac [ Hook ] Haters frontin in the club Real gees show us love Bust slugs for my n***a (We gonna rock) Anywhere we do shows Come through, two hoes k**ers with new flows, playa (We gonna rock) Even when eyes low from hydro Can't another brother co*k-block my flow (We gonna rock) Can't stop our ones Can't block our guns Get your triggers And squeeze for these Faculty n***as [ VERSE 2 ] Haters hate me cause I'm a big n***a with ma** appeal They can s** a dick with ghonorrhea and that's for real Ain't no secrets, muthaf**as know I might clap the steel Be ready any given time, I'm like grab the wheel Let the window down slow, kid just bought the farm Two chicks in a Yugo, damn, it's a false alarm Not on this joint, Sauce usually calm with the grammar But right now I'm like baking soda, armed with a hammer Summertime comin, now they wonder what I drive next Represent for big n***as, 3-4-5-X Wide body jeeps, little dimes puff the herb slow Know the drill, bubblegum, rubbers in the 3rd row SUV tinted out, frontin on the hands-free Real gees happy for me, haters like 'it can't be' Fighter and a lover, worst enemy or your brother Just don't forget to call me Dad too cause I'm a motherf**er [ Hook ] [ VERSE 3 ] I know b**hes who love Sauce for the dicko, straight Gorilla Fatally, more than likely take at least eight to k** a- Ddicted to my flow, doggy style ain't the way I make my scrilla [Name], [Name], [Name], [Name], those my n***as Hit the club half-co*ked, n***as shoulda knew me better Jim Star dillinger, that's under my Gucci sweater Through the crowd thugged out, took my stance and I spit Screamed on this one chick like, "b**h, dance to my sh**" Part the club with elbows, bump a n***a, love that n***a read my eyes and it said 'step the f** back' This Gorilla Hill sh**, we don't give two f**s On Gorilla Hill, kid, you tryin to do too much Must've had a sixth sense, how he knew I clutch chrome? Probably this a big b**h, front and left his nuts home f** that weak Gotti sh**, n***a, let your shotie spit Sauce Muthaf**in, get your punk-a** body whipped [ Hook ] (3x) Welcome to Gorilla Hill