Gone Be Sum sh*t lyrics

by

Juicy J


[DJ Paul]
Now what you b*tches wanna do
What you b*tches wanna do, talk some sh*t
Get your ass beat black and f*cking blue
By the new dangerous crew da f*cking HeadBussaz
They turned us down for weed in they hood
Cause they ain't trust us, them n*ggas nothing but bustaz
They knew we had them skull bussaz, in our back pockets
Ready to rob and bust them, you hear me
I gotta dust them, off like some old books
Cause they f*cked around with some old crooks
I'm talking bout King, I'm talking bout Fiend
I'm talking bout that n*gga Juicy on the f*cking scene
We got these auto's with them quieter's twisted at the tip
For no sounds, nothing but silence when these b*tches rip
And rip a b*tch head clean from they gold chain
Cause these boys had them gassed up like propane
I bring the pain like ten Taliban's on a {plane}
And we ain't quitting until your muthaf*ckin heart lose, n*gga

[Chorus]
If you ain't from Memphis Tenn., it's gone be sum sh*t
They some wild muthaf*ckas, who you f*cking wit
If you ain't from New Orleans, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some crazy muthaf*ckas, who you f*cking wit
If you ain't from Chi Town, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some gang banging n*ggas, who you f*cking wit
If you ain't from ATL, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some scrappin' muthaf*ckas, who you f*cking wit
[Juicy J]
What you know bout the muthaf*ckin North, North
In the hood n*ggas drinking, smoking Newports
All them old school players bumping Too $hort
If they got that fire weed, they put in two torts
And them killing drug dealers, mane they stay in court
For that slanging or that killing or some child support
If my n*gga go to jail, we gone hold a fort
Riding around bumping system with the cd distort
You can call me mister d-o-p-e with the Glock then I p-o-p
Don't have my change, it's a d-e-a-d
Written on your forehead, don't f*ck me
We keep artillery, you might can't see
Hiding in the bushes or a scope in the tree
So don't be playing with that n*gga Juicy
They might find your body somewhere overseas

[Chorus]
If you ain't from Houston, Texas, it's gone to be sum sh*t
They some syrup shipping n*ggas, who you f*cking wit
If you ain't from Mississippi, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some rope hanging n*ggas, who you f*cking wit
If you ain't from Alabama, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some head busting n*ggas, who you f*cking wit
If you ain't from Cashville, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some robbing muthaf*ckas, who you f*cking wit
[Fiend]
Hands down, this for them scams
And that are saying by the pound
Tilt the scale, we just playing
Laying they ass in the ground
Gram baggers, coke handlers and lb movers
Yeah man, pack your sh*t
Cause I can see right through ya
To these bustaz, drug smugglers
That's under the world
All for the love of the girl
f*ck up my nadir
We swirl, quick dust
Making off with the furl
You step on it three times
And do your thang on the world
Uh huh only talking what I used to
Y'all do what you do
Highly grow one seven
And we messing with that voodoo
Got colors yellow down to the doo doo
You wouldn't short, we could moved you
Stick you like some glue too
Serve your ass like the lunch line
Point blank you want something of mine
On the block nothing to find, slide to the alley
Don't need the work badly
But fill prescriptions gladly, you heard me
[Chorus]
If you ain't from Arkansas, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some kidnapping n*ggas, who you f*cking wit
If you ain't from Dallas, Texas, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some Mexican n*ggas, who you f*cking wit
If you ain't from Miami, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some dope pushing n*ggas, who you f*cking wit
If you ain't from St. Louis, it's gone be sum sh*t
They some pimp juice drankers, who you f*cking wit
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