DA BEATMINERZ

DA BEATMINERZ - Devastatin'....That's Us!

rate me

(feat. Black Moon, Lord Have Mercy)

[Buckshot Shorty]

Niggas get hurt on my block

Niggas do dirt on my block

Some push work on my block

Little niggas hustle laptops, ragtops

In the high-speed chase from the bad cops

TNT, fuck that, they ain't seein me

The heat is in the seat of my three

Nowadays deez pop niggas for no reason

Like it's nigga season, fuck that let's visit the precint

Son I got the rubber gloves

For the rubber grip snub in the jar by love

I play the block like the cars I love

The Gods love Buckshot regardless - I burn the hardest

I used to be formerly know as the artist

Know it's back to Buck, I smack niggas what don't start it

Cuz I play the block like corn stores

Hardcore where my niggas hold rocks in they jaw

[Chorus: Lord Have Mercy]

Watch out, shut shit down - That's us!

Keep it King Kong, aim string long - That's us!

Gotta haul weight all day nigga - That's us!

On fire! - That's us!

On fire! - That's us!

We don't back down, we back 'em down - That's us!

Put the cash up, we mash it down - That's us!

Ghetto bastards, we crowd around - That's us!

On fire! - That's us!

On fire! - That's us!

[Buckshot Shorty]

It's the block where we all hand and we all slang

Shots to the mall nang, never ball rang

Everybody got game, we hustle and muscle for fame

Ghetto celebs, you know my name

I put the work on it, I be the first on it

And at the first of the month, I'll be the worst on it

Them jealous niggas be gettin me hype

Wanna make my block hot like my streetbike tailpipe

Do what you feel like, cuz I'ma still kill like

Twenty niggas who feel hype, cuz I'm still right

One in ya windpipe, one hit'cha real light

Steak-n-cheese, ain't no mistakin these

We pop niggas and we pop deez

Especially when we drop trees

Fuck that, we pop with ease

Nigga this is the block and shit don't stop

Little use, got bullet proof suits to rock

[Chorus]

[Buckshot Shorty]

Fuck actin like it's all love, fuck that

It ain't all love when the guns off the gunrack

Beef, been there done that

'Til that, a dude can't drill that

Even if I never feel that

But tickle the shit you come with or go with

You like bleedin with no kit, useless

If you got a choice choose this

Crown Heights, Crow Hill, everything is Christmas for real

We rob and steal

Boost a little 'Lo a little Tom Hil'

We don't really wear Tommy Hil but everything we rock they steal

Money is the root of all evil

But the Devil ain't a dollar bill

You better get that money - I'm gettin it

I ain't bullshittin it, I'm tryin to get rid of it

Every bit, every little cent in my bank account

Fuck workin thirty years on the paper route

[Chorus]

[Lord Have Mercy]

Yea, yo, yea

Black Moon style, what

Yea, yea, what, yea

Beatminerz style, what, what

Uh, uh, what

Lord Have style nigga

Uh-huh, uh-huh

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