n*gga Gots No Heart lyrics

by

Guru


[Chorus: Spice 1 x2]
A n*gga gots no heart (a n*gga, a n*gga)

[Verse 1: Spice 1]
I'm sick up in this game
I'll take no muthaf*ckin' shorts and
Slam dunk these bullets up in yo' ass like Jordan
Menace II Society muthaf*ckin' killer
Just call me the East Bay Gangsta
I'm yo' real ass n*gga
Quick to make decisions and I'm
Quick to get my blast on
Do a 187 with this muthaf*ckin' mask on
Rollin' up out the cut deeper than Atlantis
Tore his chest apart left his heart on the canvas
Now I gots mo' mayo than the rest of the pushers
Rat a tat tat tat came my Tec from the bushes
I blast with no heart cause I'm heartless in nine-trey
A-K blast on that ass if in my way, n*gga
Slangin' 'Cola since the very very start
Much love for this game so a n*gga gots no heart

[Hook: Spice 1]
Ain't no love b*tch
A n*gga gots no heart
(gunshot)
[Verse 2: Spice 1]
Release the trigga as I blast on a n*gga
Nina put a cease on his Timex ticker
And uhh playas he can't give me no love
Cause I'm stuck on the corna in the ghetto
Slangin' dub sacks
And I duck when they fly by
Cause Killa Cali' is the state for the drive-by
Caps peel from the gangstas in my hood
Ya better use that nina
Cause that deuce-deuce ain't no good
And umm I'm taking up a hobby
Murdering muthaf*ckas & massacre robbery
I'm twenty-two & I'm still slangin' dub sacks
I gives the fiend some love but ain't no love back
Much love in this game ain't no love n*gga
187 is a art cause a n*gga gots no heart

[Hook]

Me shootin' him up me shootin' him up
If he no give my pay
Ain't no love b*tch

[Verse 3: Spice 1]
A n*gga gots no heart
& I'll be damned if I'm broke old
Pushin' on a shoppin cart
They blast on a friend of me
Another sad case of a mistaken identity
12 O' clock & my 'hood's dubbin' pay back
I sat & watched them shoot my n*gga
Seen his face crack
Uzis spray like Raid on these c*ckroaches
A dropped bomb full of 187 soldiers
Doin' dirt cause we dirty when the trigga pull
Seventeen up in that n*gga left his body full
Of hollow tips so I know he won't be comin' back
I let my mail stack & let my hair platt
But my sweet sweet Sunday had to turn tart
His posse came & them n*ggas had no heart
Me kill all man say kill all man say
Kill 'em all man kill 'em all with me Glock Glock
Kill all man say kill all man say
Kill 'em all man kill 'em all with me Glock Glock
Kill all man say kill all man say
Kill 'em all man kill 'em all with me Glock Glock

Yeah mon blam! The 187 Fac man
Comin' at yo' ass wit no love
Blam! f*ck ya man pus*yclot man
187 thousand G
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