Big House Goin' back - back inside Goin' back to the Big House Goin' back inside Goin' back to the Big House Goin' back inside - back inside Goin' back to the Big
Translation: L.A. Guns. Big House.
year, we should have a thousand guns Nigga Ruff Ryde, Ryde or Die Volume One From dope money to rap money, and back to dope money (C'mon) Loaded guns
Call the cops I see a robbery in progress Lunatics about to steal the show From the S T L M O 3 1 4 Call the cops I see a robbery in progress Lunatics
cleanse yo' mind I pray it opens up your eyes 'Cause can't nobody call, tomorrow at all So we live for the present time Next time you in the A-T-L get
sweetest song In a room with the heart of a violin Don't violate my patience, I'm waiting To kill a man as I stare at the celiing fan As a fan of these
cause it's getting worse I gotta show off my stuff If it's a 40 I'll take a sip, if it's a blunt, then I'll take a puff I'm undisputed even when I'm bhudded
each jaw In the millenium, war against Palestinians A century is done, plenty of guns Plenty of bombs, many shall come And my name, a homeless man ridin' a
a murder and we got to make this flight shit It was a Wesley Snipes movement on a Sunday in Bermuda We laptop niggas, thugs in a computer A Wesley Snipes
on TV where you see B-O-B-B-Y D-I-G-I-T-A-L, A-L, things ain't too well Digital, these niggas should be crazy Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby Bedstuy,
semi-automatic an' a P.G. Hooptie getaway, driver breathe easy Explain things further, murder or get murdered Now if you know Jay, I never been a brother to front I be in L.A
' a house to fight pits in Or blowin' weed smoke on the cops that write tickets Henny iy up, shit we can semi it up Have a picture of you on the wall
a big gun and a Coupe that's crazy quick A nice house with five rooms, maybe six A town where money is coming, eighty bricks Break 'em down to all twenties, is a
to God I even got caught tryin to steal from the junkyard A born terror, a rebel without a pause I never had a good Christmas, so who is Santa Claus?
me a piece Wack-ass caliber, nickel-plated with the silencer What? She don't know I like my guns pretty? Like my boy Castor Troy with the twin-glizzies I heard a
my basement with a gauge in your face Make no mistake, that's how I do my thing Blow out a lot of brains, I'm sayin', it's not a game Take these words
L's with my liquor sounds sew a helluva whisper Gasing up a hoe tell her you miss her Dealing with the old timers was a helluva listener Business sale a
to god I even got caught tryin to steal from the junkyard A born terror, a rebel without a pause I never had a good christmas, so who is santa claus?
