Dyin Wit'cha Boots On

Trouble seems to catch a motherf**ker with his cards down Gotta keep my drawers up, shit's gettin hard now These motherf**kin cops be plantin shit on these niggas Simply because these niggas got bank accounts that's bigger I just can't get no peace from you motherf**kin rollers Everytime I pull my benz or what, 'cha pull me over I'm sick of motherf**kers who be checking whitey's coke tip Blacker than a motherf**ker, sweat me 'bout my *? dope-sip*? Niggas just take your cut and get your a*s up out my face The only thing you probably get from me is a cock-s*cking pistol case Unless you plan on plantin a lil' somethin in my shit Just because you ain't got shit, bitch! Give em a badge and a trigger and that makes em figure That they can f**k with a million dollar nigga They got you mixed up, fixed up at the segas, shookin indo Gettin f**ked up in the gank-hole The only way you'll whip that motherf**ker is when you whip that Motherf**ker And we choke the motherf**ker (me stuck the motherf**ker!) So when you hear my song and wanna get it on You better come prepared motherf**ker, you dyin wit'cha boots on Chorus: (put ya foot in my shit and let me try on your hood) Dyin wit'cha boots on (put ya foot in my shit 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**k that! it was brad dawg, I ain't goin out by myself Niggas gettin caught, doin time, so they snitchin They pickin niggas up on a funky a*s suspicion We'll be goin down for some questioning we think And end up gettin hit with the f**kin kitchen sink Racketeer and laundering, kingpin wondering If they got some unsolved murders, then give him some of them Just because we're niggas and they figure we're no smarter We sell each other albums, start frattin on our partners They start bringin up shit that happened back in '85 And then comes the largest jury, bitch, they f**kin time! You might as well play the state Cos you come to day for day And sellin out your homeboys ain't the shit Cos y'all gonna have to die in this bitch, bitch! Lobbin wit'cha white suits on And dyin wit'cha motherf**kin boots on (put ya foot in my shit and let me try on your hood)