T-Weaponz - Dem Boys (Remix) (Alternate Version) lyrics

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T-Weaponz - Dem Boys (Remix) (Alternate Version) lyrics

[Shamrock (Fingazz in background)] Yeah I think we gotta roll down the window for this one (Yeah, yeah) Put your seat back and crank that motherf**er up You heard what the f** I said, crank that sh**! [Chorus: Ark & Fingazz] (Ark) {Fingazz} Don't go messin' with them boys (From New York) Cause you'll probably end up dead on your back {Yeah, yeah} Don't go messin' with them boys (From the west) Cause you'll probably hear a click and a clack {Yeah, yeah} Don't go messin' with them boys (From the south) Cause you'll probably end up dead on the trap {Yeah, yeah} Don't go messin' with them boys (Don't go messin' with them boys) {Yeah} Don't go messin' with them boys [Verse 1: Shamrock] Don't go messin' with them boys, you don't know what'll hit ya I can screw it up like this or spit it quick like a Twista I could get Real loud or do the Ying Yang, whisper Back then She didn't want me, now I'm twistin' your sister I'm in your House like Swisha Slurpin', sippin' your syzzurp Tippin' on 44's, worse, I'm gettin' exquisite What's the dizza, my nizza The lick is sick to my fliffer A muh'f**er tried to spit, and he'll get shipped off the river Girls unzip up my zipper They lick my dick like a sticker They wanna see the Big Dipper So I flip it like Flipper Yo, we gripping them triggers, so now we flipping them figures I got them black, boys saying "Man, I'm sick of this with ya" [Chorus] [Verse 2: Ark {*Ark slowed down*}] I keep telling 'em, to {*slow it down*} {*Like Screwed and Chopped*} Trust me, they're be No one around when you'll get shot {*You won't get found, when you get got*} Keep f**ing with them boys, they'll keep bucking with them toys Got the ones with mute, bu*tons, you'll hear nothin' but that noise A few hittin' the floor These dudes here don't get it at all My motherf**ers ain't here to snore My motherf**ers is ready for war Comin' for your spot Get rid of you all, cause you really a fraud The whole damn world is sick of you all Say that sh**, you vanish, boy Yeah, you missin' the point, when you spittin' soft Real n***as, put a fist in the air Everybody else, get a kick in the rear Cause you spit so thug, but you really a queer Guess no love, real n***as don't care Want numbers, here's the math Got to be real for your sh** to add I done got me a mil for my gift of gab We about to ride out ya and hit the gas [Chorus] (Verse 3) [Psalmz] You ain't nothin', punchin' nothin', no pushin', pumpin' or stuntin' You drunk and bumpin' your gums when you soft as cushion, you frontin' Go run and jump in a**umptions, them Brooklyn boys'll come rushin' If you in it, to get it, you Kick In The Door The minute, you in it, you get it and go Get rid of the spinach, don't sit in the dough Cause n***as will k** you to get what you gross... [IzReal] Them boys bringin' New York City back in like Biggie rappin', with the city busy yappin' Are they really Latin, what really happened, we blow it up in on piggy-backin' So no matter, donde que picen, all the girls dicen, look they goro Boriquans We respected from BK to Texas, connected go horn of the precients Tell 'em the streets rise, I'm comin' in peace but we damned if lettin' any Beef by ya, so don't you go messin' with them eastsiders, we Street Fighters [Chorus] [Fingazz] Yeah, yeah {*scratching*} "Fi-fi-fi" {*scratching*} "Fingazz on the track..." Yeah, yeah