Brotha Lynch Hung - Reachin' for Fame lyrics

rate me

(feat. CO, Tall Cann)

[Lynch Talking]

Yeh, yeh..

Back at that ass once again

Had to do it, bitch niggaz in the town

Ya know what I'm sayin'

I'ma tell 'em what I know

Know what I know

[Brotha Lynch Hung]

Word on the streets is don't quit ya day job

I own spots while you won't even get to own a spot

I'm unconcious sippin' on that sugary Saint I-des

Your raps need that Midas touch while mines rhymes

It's suicide fuckin' wit me, believe it

I'll tuck the fifty cal now cause some niggaz tried to get me

Split me in half like a joint bitch, I had it crackin'

Slugs went flyin' through ya window, nigga I'm the captain

You just rappin' to get by, might have to get to wrapped in a 6-5

Might have to get that truckin' and get locked

Nigga you taste good like sour cream and chives over potatoes

I'm a tornado, you just a puddle

A poodle talkin' shit 'bout to get one put in ya noodle

Biotch ya got the nuts to be attackin' back at me

My chap I'm strapped have the fifty pound metal in the back seat

And it's all legal, got me dumpin' at ya Regal wid the do dirty

Gotta get mine done no matter who hurt me

Every bitch I got I got the key to the spot

Better hide yo bitch before I get the key to your spot

Stand right over ya bed wid yo glock

Put one right in ya head ya whole cake

You ain't even gon' play my shit rock up just like cocaine

You a no name I'm preachin' you still reachin' for fame

[Tall Cann]

Same old shit but a different day

Back at these niggaz like boomerangs

Nigga wanna come around and do my thang

Bangin' these niggaz for the dead issues

Call the paramedics to get you

Not fuckin' wid me in this lifetime

Not thinkin' in my right mind

Like Mike Tyson when it's my time

Got these niggaz hollerin' woof

Baby you ain't hard as hundred proof

My fellow you just a nigga that won't fit in a puddle

Piece a shit, nut ridin' get your ass outta hidin'

Dip on 21st street ridin' there won't be a survivor

Yo ass ain't no McGuyver you done say the wrong thangs

The method that I got to give 'em bustin' out some teeth to say the less

You can save the rest for later

I mean I'm way to major like E-major nigga

You claimin' my game but you ain't nothin' but a hater

So when I pull out my tool scram

Ya riddled drain eggs and ham you in the fryin' pan

The way I reach out and snap a nigga like a rubber band

Oh no there goes another man tryna fuck wid the Siccmade fam

Uh, Uh again?, God damn

[CO]

These niggaz talk alot of shit but don't really know about C-O

That sneaky motherfucka hit ya ass like ya P-O

When ya least expect it with the cold Smith and Wesson

Have my bitch, set you up at the telly get you undressin'

Then it's lights camera action my pistol's blastin'

Ya night went from cashin' to missin' fractions

But shit do happen, so ya shoulda been ready

Instead of doin' all that yappin' shoulda copped you somethin' heavy

We deadly, like rattlesnake bites y'all the taddlin' type

Deal wit my pain and probably rattle ya life

So instead of worryin' about ours you need to see

What's the matter wit ya life?

What's the matter wit ya life boy, ya can't get it right?

What's the matter wit ya life boy, ya can't get a life?

Then spark it up this hitter does so ya can't get no ice

So now ya wanna hold a grudge wid, niggaz like us

Beause we move shit like drugs where y'all stayin' and cus

And talk about the same shit all day

And us we on the next page and after that the next page

So try again the next day if you can't fade us today

Practice makes perfect lil' guy stay in ya place

[Brotha Lynch]

I'm a Southside rider, funk provider

Leave you in the trunk tied up, punk ya lied to us

Just to tryna glock wid us get a piece of the pie wid us

We too O-G, I don't fuck wid them mics cuz

I'm diggy down it will take plots to get me now

And I got the fifty thou, wanna bet ya not get me pow

I'm the threat starter fire starter put a hole in ya Starter

And you couldn't find me cause it's time for departure

Tryna get ya CD's out, I know it start ya

Blame it on me I got heat, I leave ya scortched up

I'm on the porch and nuttin' up, Southside, keep locked

Where the G's knock niggaz out for fuckin' up, we tuck 'em up

Me and C-O and Tall Cann you can't fuck wid us

We somethin' rough you niggaz be punkin' up we got pumps and stuff

All up in the trunk and stuff we be waitin' for attack

Get me sprayin' on ya pack and now you layin' on ya back

You ain't payin' all ya rap taxes institute of malpractice

I put ya raps in a casket you half plastic

Patty mealed ass nigga put ya raps in the thrashbin

Ya clashin' wid the Burbank titan fasten ya seatbelts

I'm bout to make ya meat melt

That beer breath spittin' meat chunks at ya wig punk

I fear less rather hear less, you niggaz is tryna pay less

I make ya days less trippin' on the famous tryna get famous

Nigga please

[Tall Cann]

Ain't nobody fuckin' wit me, this side of the city

Northside gangsta ride turn you liars to sissies

You ain't bangin' shit so miss me wid ya bullshit comment

You know me, I worship drama that was a curse from my momma

So if you wanna bring it here boy

Northgate in El camino I'm right here boy

All day long all night strong we be runnin' the North

And I can have niggaz from your hood, run on ya porch

Ya little cowards keep the gun in ya shorts

We keep the blunts and the ports to blaze up

After ya spirit raise up you still

think you can rap you need to give them days up

It's gonna cost you ya cap takin' cheap shots at us

So cuz toss me the strap and put these streets on hush

Because they full of wack niggaz and they speak too much

And now we can't have that because we G too much

So I'ma end it on this fact nigga'll bleed too much

Ya keep talkin'