Letra Gutta boyz de The Game

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(We gangsta daddy!)

[Sean T]
I´m sippin on that ´notiq the color of Hulk man
And the blueberry smoke got a nigga twerkin
You niggaz is perkin - so you doin it big?
You roll deep but when I see you it´s just you and your kids
I roll sick, my rims feel like helicopter propellers
And my pockets run deep like a Mercer teller
Haters trip when they see the whip dippin by
The paint on it change like the I-95
I´m just Clyde, without the Bonnie, I got the hollowpoint
heat for you niggaz and the po´ for the mamis
Sean Gotti, I´m puttin an end to camraderie
I´m lettin off heat, ´til them eyes get watery
Some gon´ ricochet, some gon´ hit, y´all gon´ get ´em
Fluids gon´ disperse out like refreshin club serum
I´m deadly as bite venom but I´m far from a snake
I´ll hit you up on your birthday while you cuttin your cake

[Chorus: The Game]
We gangsters nigga; you see the cars, the whips
The chains, the fuckin broads we with
We gangsters nigga; we´ll come through your hood
a hundred deep and empty the whole clip
We gangsters nigga; we got guns for the beef
And my niggaz´ll put you under the street
We gangsters nigga; so you better watch what you say
´Fore I empty the whole glock in your face

[Sean T]
Streets is tough, but ain´t no hopscotch lines on the ground
Just burner shells, and police siren sounds
Niggaz know who I am in the town; it ain´t a circus
But it might as well be, cause you know I´ma clown
I´m a terrain boss, I know most niggaz envious dawg
And if a nigga owe me change you better give me it dawg
If you feelin like you wanna leap, make like a frog
You niggaz lame, transparent like Wonder Woman´s plane
I´m a stunna in this game, a federal figure
Blowin doj´ in the hummer, 50 K on my fingers
I´m like a NASCAR winner poppin Mo´ and Bill{?}
D-Squad don´t give a fuck about nobody else
I pull a {?} to contain your whole, clique for hours
The end result will probably be, pinewood and flowers
So I´ll advise you deduct your QP´s and powder
We gangsters and we jackin cowards (yup!)


[Sean T]
S.T. nigga D-Squad, G.G.D
Don´t get it twisted motherfucker yeah we do creep
We ride out thug, shit we don´t die
We lay low like mechanics tryin to fix up rides
A lot of cats say I´m sick in the head, when I anger it´s on
Poodles gon´ be up missin or dead
I chop haters up, like an old-ass sample
Or creep through your village, like Stallone in "Rambo"
I´m like piranhas on red meat, I´m on you niggaz
You afros? Then I guess I got to comb you niggaz
So break bread, when you see me dawg hit the flo´
I´m like a nigga off the X, unpredicta-ble
Imitators always hollerin how gangsta they is
But got about as much courage as the Lion in "The Wiz"
Shit I´m into pullin shanks on you fake Jake cats
Me and my burner hold it down man we go way back
Tomado de AlbumCancionYLetra.com