Rap-a-Lot Records - You Don't Hear Me Doe lyrics

[DMG] Call me psychotive but I'm bad, n***a yo! And I'mma do ya bad, black And when I come, I'm bustin up n***as that held me back Ya should of never let a n***a see That there was n***as and b**hes and b**hes and n***as that hated me Huh, I waited for my date to come-of-age And now I'm of-age I can't escape the f**in front page So I guess that n***a D is up to hit again I kicks that funky sh** and coke, and stupid like I'm Gilligan I'm P, supposed to hit a lick for a jack The only thing I gained is the pain of n***as comin back n***a lookin for they sh**, aggravated and pissed Cause they can't f** with my clique I'm here to break em off a chunk A D-E-A-T-H-E-Y, a motherf**in punk Cause I'll be rollin' with the Brad-ster So if you see us in your hoodie Break your neck to roll on past, n***a Don't even stop to say 'Whattup?' cos I bust for the f** And plus I'm quick to light a motherf**er up Next time you spot me on your block, I hope you leave the place Or be the next to meet the Lord face-to-face n***a, I ain't the one to take no bullsh** Cos see a n***a like the D is game to empty out the full clip So when I come for ya, act like ya know Sendin motherf**in smooth to the curb but you don't hear do' [Hook] I'mma bring ya to ya a**hole (uh) Do it like the G-to-O (yeah) Bustin on that a** but still I see that you don't hear me do' (But you don't hear me do') Bring ya to ya a**hole (uh) Do it like the G-to-O (yeah) Bustin on that a** but still I see that you don't hear me do' [DMG] It's time to f** em up, here it comes, BLAST, n***a! Thump to your chest and they comin out your a**, n***a I grew up hard, livin my life as a criminal n***as G to k** but still I see that you don't hear me do' So I'mma serve it to ya fat, hit the deck, mate Hit the deck mate, call me Flipper when I checkmate D-um divertin nine, Tre-9, full Glock, Glock My Glock makin sounds and it don't stop So n***a pa** the Swisher quick And I'mma blaze til the motherf**er burn me off my fingertips Cause, see a n***a gotta stay high I try to smoke til I can't smoke and then I won't smoke But still I got my fingers on my sh** And click, click, click, ya die, die, die, ya dead, b**h! You tried to test the wrong n***a, bein' tested Straight from St.Paul but clockin G's down in Texas Some think I'm soft cause I play it cool But I ain't the average motherf**er, I do the sh** that n***as won't do Huh, like pistol whip a woodie for his bank Then after that I go and grab his b**h and do the same thang And now I'm paid up the a**hole Collectin grips on my drips as I stroll but you don't hear me do' [Hook] [DMG] Ain't no mistakin what I'm bringin, you motherf**ers still ain't had enough So I'mma continue to break you off for proper a** chunk May it be 9, may it be a gauge, may it be a shank Any way you come I'm in your motherf**in sh**, mate! Huh, a n***a bustin caps, smokin fires Quick to bring it to your a** and keep on goin til your a** die And it ain't no runnin down dem backstreets Cause I got slugs to catch up with Carl Lewis on the track meet Huh, and still you wanna test a n***a so Audi 5, n***a, hate to see ya go but you don't hear me do' [Hook] Yeah, check it!