BLOODS & CRIPS - Shit Ain't Over lyrics

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I'm wearin' my colors: red shirt, red Stars and red flags

Throwin' up Inglewood

As my bhakis sag

Green Eyes the Y-G

Gangsta thug

And I fill your ass up with tramp 8 slugs

On Bloods I gives a fuck about the Crab in the 9-4

And fuck his moms, I smoke that hoe

1-0-4 the hood that I grew up in

Born in red and Blood all I be was red

And I chose to be a Blood cause I'm a Dog

A muthafuckin' rock waller

Checkin' out Crab baller

So now you know when you roll thru the '4

I place a knife to your throat

And blow your life outta window

And your ass will never catch Green Eyes, please Captain save a Crab

I smoke his ass, laugh

And then I stab

Back to Inglewood on Crabs I'm straight dumpin'

Rest In Peace to A-Bay and Pumpkin'

The shit ain't over and nigga that's for real

And I gotta lotta more muthafuckin' Crabs to kill


It's the capital N, capital G, capital B, capital H

Littlest C but the biggest K

It's them niggas B khakin' G red steady slidin'

Fuckin' major bitches in C-K ridin'

Glidin' as we roll through the Projects

Over 10 years in bitches so a nigga gots a gang of respect

So respect the words

From the niggas that's in red and black

Two Five Line Hustlers straight gangsta macks

I get popped from my niggas from the Ace to '4

They'll be fucked - that been tryed to have a gang truce

You better hope you have your four leaf clover

Blood, the C-K ain't over


Hoo-ridin' on the Westside, a flame Yak again

Ridin' with the homies killin' hoes and friends

Plus a - flashback

To the heart right connected that

It's ride back to the 9 block you be

You niggas don't realize I'm from the street

Hit around the corner with the elementary

With the homie from the 'hood

So it's all good, we bickin'

Got word

From travel tickets fadin' bitches, killin' Rickets street slippin'

You jacked - oh, you're a snitch

Because the bitch smoke crack and I got the next hit

Extra clip 32 hollow points to the head

Nigga smokin' joints, nigga smokin' Crab

Flamed up in the cut, in the house full of lead

With the strap in my hand

Now my lap or in the stash

You know how we do it

On the West Side we prove it

Hoo-ridin' I'm shootin'

Hoo-dyin' not confused them

Won't say no names of gang just fuck any Crab thang

Is just - Cowards Run In Pack I bust a cap in their brain

With the 9 Glock it don't stop, the 9

Blood Y-G B-Dogs killin' Ricks' take the flees

Crossin' out the C's


It's 4 o'clock on the dot now it's to swoop

I hopped in the Boupe finna bust a WOOP WOOP!

But no sooner as I hit C-K Century

A car full of Crabs tryin' to get with me

So I pulls my ride, straight to the side

Since I'm strapped - I'm peelin' niggas' caps

Punk fools caught the ?? that I stick a Deuce-Deuce

Can't fuck wit' a Mac-10, bitch

Handle your business, serve 'em proper

Crabs can't fuck wit the Crenshaw Mafia

I'm the Hawkster, nigga - how did you figure?

Red Riding Hood, M and the L is killas niggas

That's the muthafuckin' C-M-G's/D-L-B

West Side Y-G's, and I'm out for a minute to the soldier

And fuck all Crabs nigga, the shit ain't over

Well it's me tha nigga Dogg finna take the fuck off

With the Caddy red Coupe with the gold knock off

I got the 4-5 Glock, Crab drop on the spot

Cut-off bhakis with the red ?? socks

I finna take you Crab niggas to the old days

When me ?? go fast and ?? bay

As I daze your ass with this Damu shit

I'm the hardest though, the C-K hardest

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