Spice 1 - Don't Stop lyrics

[Talking - C-Bo] First off we the mutha f**in Thug Lords Now for all you n***as bangin, that mutha f**in West Coast like n***a? YouknowhatI'msayin? And fa sho no lie 29th Street Crip Gang n***a, C-Bo holdin nothin back Yukmouth, Spice 1 and we do it live, for the world it's still f** off You know what and we in that you knowhatI'msayin? And this how we handle business, n***a From the early 80's to these 2 G's, boy [C-Bo] Huh, We blaze em up with AK's, double my clip and we dip Set trip and get hit, flip Crip or get zipped Run with the Crips, catch me clumsy in the 6 6 rag invertable slide divertable, murder ya Dead and gone never heard of ya Now we stuffin lead in the crome, bout to hurt ya Pack ya down in the earth, we put work in like Mad Dirt Odainers twistin like the revolver or the earth f** church, it's a must I burst and curse Yeah I'm a West Coast Bad Boy but a thousand times worst Dime piece, gun in her purse, one in her skirt Cross me, bet ya life that my b**h burst Got me lockin down the world for the North Pole Too cold to hold lyrics froze my wrist and my hoes Number one Thug Lord, f** wit us! I won't lie the whole world gonna rush wit us, tell em [Hook - Yukmouth and Spice 1] Thug Lord n***as boss up and don't stop Thugged out n***as boss up and don't stop Thug Lord n***as boss up and don't stop Thugged out n***as boss up and don't stop Blow! Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang Spice, Yuk and Bo we do the damn thang Blow! Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang Thug Lord n***as we do the damn thang [Spice 1] n***a you listenin to the B-O-S-S-I-L-I-N-I Yukmouth and C-Bo you know they label us born to die But I pistol slap you and two n***as like 3 Stooges Walk over to the bar and sip on Gin and juice It's just the gangster in me, the thug in me Mug in me and get yo fro pushed back like homie You lil clown a** n***a walkin in bozo shoes While my n***as out here doin hits, makin the news What you think you gon' dodge these bullets like Matrix? Like a condom, I even lay teck on a b**h Now that's some cold sh**, a low lick, a cold hit Leave a n***a at a funeral cryin with no b**h Some Thug Lord sh** n***a shoot up ya coffin n***as cross game get murdered by bosses Cost's yo mutha f**in life when you play with the rules They got a n-uh-n***a still singin the blues [Hook - Yukmouth and Spice 1] Blow! n***as boss up and don't stop Thugged out n***as boss up and don't stop Thugged out n***as boss up and don't stop Thugged out n***as boss up and don't stop Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang Thug Lord n***as we do the damn thang Blow! Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang Spice, Yuk and Bo we do the damn thang [Yukmouth] b**h, next up to bat, Yukmouth destroy the earth with rap Imagine pain worse than that, my n***as coppin birds of crack Servin track, co*k back and burst the gat I want my turf back, I hurt that, work that, twerk that Rolex speed spot like Joe Pesci AK ready, we deadly, b**h! I'm like Hannibal, rector eat MC's for breakfast I'm the hardest artist to sign to a label in Texas Yes it's that n***a with the platinum grill full of princesses Invisible set, straight up herbal molescents In less than 60 seconds I k** em leavin em breathless Don't f** with bread, run outta state bit records With chin checkers in Benz stretches who win cheddar When fakers scramble liquid hands on n***as with vindettas I'm like 10 fraredders bustin off at the same time Payed rhymes, I kick sh** off when it's game time [Spice 1] Blow! blow, blididat, blididat! Blow, blow, blididat, blididat, blididat! Blow, blow, blididat, blididat Blididat, blididat blalalalat! Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang Thug Lord n***as we do the damn thang Blow! Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang Spice, Yuk and Bo we do the damn thang [Brother Lynch] I'm hittin n***as so hard with these you would need Jesus Beleive these is yo last days I can see you cleavich That's why I'm f**in you with the 9 millimeter And I feed a n***a with the heater, he was a long bleeder And he taste good with fajitas, heat em up now eat Member me? n***a that be eatin raw meat With tiger claw feet so it's easy to creep You leave me no reason but to leave n***as bleedin Recieve grievence with extra Season of the Sicc I pick em off like Brock Marion He kept starin so I took care of him, shot him up with h**n Like malt liqour, to the liver hitter, to the river wit ya Dip ya down deep, down deep Where pirana heat they eat they meat Heat up they seats, they seats with metal from the Southside ghetto I swear I'll make y'all mutha f**as yellow Tired of diggin ditches like the GoodFellows Not good with mellow, I keep the meat Keep it hangin in the closet like pig feet Delete, come with the [Spice 1] Blow! Blalat! Blow, blow, blow blididat Blow! Blalalat! (ahah) Blow! Blididat, blididat! Blow, blow! Blalalalat! Blow (ahaha) Blow!