Jim Jones - Black On Black lyrics

rate me

(Feat. Sen City & Atm)

Jim Jones]

You’re reign on the top, short like Leprechauns

I came through in drops, Porches and heavy charms

I came from the block, the slums wit ex-con’s

And we aimin’ them glocks of course ready to bomb

Now I done seen a Custy’ cop four pies of the same gear

Also seen a nigga cop four rides in the same year

This concrete jungle, no trees to swing from

This weed and gettin drunk and heaters gettin dumped

Hit the highway nigga ki’s up in the trunk

Back up in the city with some skeezas in the trunk

I aint a player but I do my dirt dog

Drop top ‘Cedes better move when it merk off

It got me swingin to the left lane

Plus a nigga caughin ’cause the haze give me chest pain

Yes motha fucka the boys is back

With my vest and I’m tucked up with my boys in back

[Chorus: Jim Jones]

You dont want it with them niggaz

While you niggaz steady bitching my niggaz gettin’ richer

You mad ’cause we ballin’

Bet you mad ’cause we scorin

If he get out of line put his punk ass in a coffin

Nigga we a ragime, Byrdgang we the truth

Keep a foriegn sedan or swirvin’ in the coupe

Oakwood in the interior, swade on the roof

Now shoot, {Bang, Bang} shoot {Bang, Bang}

[Hell Rell]

Aw man Hell Rell, he on the same bullshit agiain

Same black hoody{Yup}, same fo’ fifth again

Bithes stopped likin’ me but now they on my dick again

Seen me in the Ashton with my glistinin’

Yea I’m bustin off the chrome

Yea I’m ’bout to off your dome

Kill the mother and the father, kids go to foster homes

Yea I like to floss the chrome, nigga leave the boss alone

See my neck and my wrist, I’m rockin’ what it costs for homes

Homie they dont call me ruger for nothing

Back out on theese bitch niggaz get that ruger to dumpin’

Dont run up on me nigga you know I stay with it

G’d up from the beef and brock’s to the Oakland A’s fitted

That’s the bottom to the top, it’s in the bottom of the pot

I got it white, I got it tan, it’s either you copin’ or you not

Nigga jets is pullin’ off and you stuck in the current

D.I.P., B.G., fuck what you heard

[Chorus]

[Jim Jones]

We all strapped in the ride, I aint talkin’ like the elderly

Yac’ed when we drive like a rollin fuckin’ felony

Trapped to survive, get the bucks, sell them ki’s

It’s hard to get by that’s why we puff hell’a'weed

But if this high dont come down

I feal the world spinnin’ like the sky gon’ come down

I need air top of the ride gon’ come down

And i swear I stay fly when I jump out

Jewled up in ice like what that dude like

Spider four thirty with the blue’ish lights

Got the coupe bright, still shoot dice

For my niggaz on the east side this is true life

Thanks to Adrina for these lyrics