Mobb Deep - Hurt Niggas lyrics

rate me

Verse 1: ( Prodigy )

I'll noose ya'll, and push ya'll off the edge

I'm like Ray Benzino 'cause how I hang men

I got a big caliber gun inside of my Timb

so I can explode on any mothafucka that grin

trust me, it's not like that, it's not what you thought

you'll be like "P shot me and bounced in the Porsche"

on some real live Mobb shit, Columbo, the Cappo

I pop niggas, leave the gun right there, I got gloves

stop niggas from frontin', leave 'em real fucked up

I drop niggas thats runnin', shoot 'em in they back dun

coward ass nigga poppin' all that shit

and when them things popped out you on some Michael Johnson shit

fuck that, hammer that nigga to the earth

wanna cross me? you niggas gotta pay that toll first

and I got change for all that million dollar shit

and these slugs 'll be the only reason niggas be hollarin'.

Chorus (Havoc, P, and Noyd)

Turn this shit up, pump this shit up, DJ mothafuckas burn this shit up,

we hurt niggas

Twirl that shit up, burn that shit up, don't make me have the Nine spit

up, I gives a fid-uck, I hurt niggas

Verse 2: (Havoc)

I'm tired of tellin' niggas how the fuck I feel

you know the steel 'll put them niggas to sleep like Benedryl

these trash ass rappers and they faggot ass friends

talkin' like the bitches, walk around like they Men

niggas like ya'll don't get no respect

this is Hav', I die once, ya'll niggas die a Thousand deaths

cowards, you tryin' too hard to be 'bout it

you know them niggas that be fake be the ones to shout it (Holla!)

talkin' this and that, but check

turn around and get robbed in they own projects

might as well be rappin' on stage for them

bitches be baggin' you, 'cause you the one feminine

the sound of these guns got 'em shook, it's a rap

you could see the yellow stripe runnin' clear down they back

and let a nigga find out where you live at

and then blow that mothafuckin' piece of shit off the map.

Verse 3 (Prodigy)

Whattup son, dun, surprise nigga, thats how we pop up on 'em

you off point you die in your sleep, thats the moral

nigga, you know we get our contraban in

smokin' that dangerous, you know we got bangers

you know I'm dead real, I don't know what you was thinkin'

I'm all over the street, you better stay creepin'

I shoot niggas fair ones, I'll box you dun

you'll be six feet in that dirt, I'll stop your run.

Chorus