Scarface - Dyin Wit'cha Boots On lyrics

Trouble seems to catch a motherf**er with his cards down Gotta keep my drawers up, sh**'s gettin hard now These motherf**in cops be plantin sh** on these n***as Simply because these n***as got bank accounts that's bigger I just can't get no peace from you motherf**in rollers Everytime I pull my Benz or what, 'cha pull me over I'm sick of motherf**ers who be checking Whitey's coke tip Blacker than a motherf**er, sweat me 'bout my *?dope-sip*? n***as just take your cut and get your a** up out my face The only thing you probably get from me is a co*k-s**ing pistol case Unless you plan on plantin a lil' somethin in my sh** Just because you ain't got sh**, b**h! Give em a badge and a trigger and that makes em figure That they can f** with a million dollar n***a They got you mixed up, fixed up at the Segas, shookin Indo Gettin f**ed up in the gank-hole The only way you'll whip that motherf**er is when you whip that motherf**er And we choke the motherf**er (Me stuck the motherf**er!) So when you hear my song and wanna get it on You better come prepared motherf**er, you dyin wit'cha boots on [Chorus:] (Put ya foot in my sh** and let me try on your hood) Dyin wit'cha boots on (Put ya foot in my sh** and let me try on your hood) Yeah [Interlude:(prison guard talking to inmate)] [Guard:] Do you know how many years you're facing inside? 25 to life and that's on the real So you better snitch on your partner [Inmate:] f** that! It was Brad Dawg, I ain't goin out by myself n***as gettin caught, doin time, so they snitchin They pickin n***as up on a funky a** suspicion We'll be goin down for some questioning we think And end up gettin hit with the f**in kitchen sink Racketeer and laundering, Kingpin wondering If they got some unsolved murders, then give him some of them Just because we're n***as and they figure we're no smarter We sell each other albums, start frattin on our partners They start bringin up sh** that happened back in '85 And then comes the largest jury, b**h, they f**in time! You might as well play the state Cos you come to day for day And sellin out your homeboys ain't the sh** Cos y'all gonna have to die in this b**h, b**h! Lobbin wit'cha white suits on And dyin wit'cha motherf**in boots on (Put ya foot in my sh** and let me try on your hood)