Various Artists - Die 3 lyrics

Buncha pussies! .. Straight pussies! I know what you thought.. Die 3, Die 3 - you f**in with me, Die 3 Die 3, Die 3 - you f**in with me, Die 3 Yeah Die 3, Die 3 - when you f**in with me, Die 3 Ya ya, ya ya, ya ya.. (Pussies! You know what I'm talkin about?) (Those two b**hes I f**ed with, you feel me?) Yo, yo (Really, reality - they ain't feminine, you feel me?) (Uhhhhh, I don't know what the f**.. I ought to even tell y'all about them f*ggots man) f** it, tell 'em [Verse One] I don't know how to begin to tell ya How we had provolone cheese, muenster, swiss, mozzarella Bad light skinned b**hes, call 'em Old Yeller Snitch to your girl, b**hes call 'em hoe-tellers Trust me, any n***a talk about us don't know better Never heard them tales how we throw them shells And how we never seen again after we post our bail Need twenty million n***a just to close my deal You know why? I think big, Alpha motto gotta think kid Get dough until it's leakin like Cheese Whiz Beef be the salsa, murder somethin gotta do Even if it haunts ya Cats attack nice guys, scared of the monsters Alpha n***a ride with it, side with it, or die by it b**h [Chorus] Die 3, Die 3 Die 3 Die 3 Why you f**in with me? Die 3, Die 3 Die 3 Die 3 Why you f**in with me? Die 3, Die 3 Die 3 Die 3 Why you f**in with me? Die 3, ya ya, ya ya, ya ya (Chedda Boy, take it man) [Verse Two: Chedda Boy] Uhh, nine times out of ten I lay back and watch the world spin I hit it first now I'm gettin at her girlfriend That's the Chedda Boy for ya, look black? But the crib filled with Goya, Sa**oon and Adobo You don't know we put six on doors Dick to who*es, talk slick I click the four Spit for all my bad, and straight to plate grinders Shoot craps with old timers, and beg for knowledge Let it soak in, Chedda Boy done focusin I know you noticed when, I used to hustle records Now I hustle the wheel, of a big Lexus I'm the thing in the hood, these b**hes wanna s** this Young, well connected, Outfit rider Never switch side up, until the crossroad divide us We gon' hold it down cousin, and the hood is buzzin Chedda Boy this, and Chedda Boy that And I'm glad it ain't crack [Chorus] [Verse Three: Crisis] Like Khalid Muhammad, the O-U-T heed the drama If a n***a want me, he gon' see dalima(?) Crisis, the heater palmer, I rolls a bead upon ya Kidnap your morticianist before he enbalm ya Better be thankful that you got me to warn ya You gon' need some armor, plus weed to calm ya The paink**ers we the game's realest G's with honor Strike like a Giaconna while you scream for momma The theme of horror, we livin in dividend chasin Racin, we impatient First off, this is for guns that burst off And when (?) throws, leavin they foes the worse off You be lucky if I let you get a verse off Your raps is weak, your gats don't leak, n***a you're soft And second, I'm reppin with a automatic weapon sh** get more dramatic when we step in, the army {*violin music gradually fades out*}