LOW PROFILE GANGSTERS - Now They Don't Ask lyrics

rate me

[Lil' Rob]

Remember every year, before the fair

We'd gather up the homeboys and we were always there

To go down, it was sort of like tradition

The first day, always had to get a fist in

It's funny thinking back cuz we were only kids then

Sixteen years old, sitting at the Sheriff station

Detained, what's your nickname, what gang you claim?

It's the same as last year officer, it's all the same

Lil' Rob had fun while it lasted

Who would have thought at eighteen I'd get blasted

Once in the face, got a taste of the bullet

And that's on the real, I got the scars to prove it

I don't have to prove shit, that ain't no bullshit

I did what I did, and that's the way I used to do it

Eighteen with the bullet, living my life foolish

The day I saw my mom cry was the day I lost my coolness

[Chorus x2: Frank V (Lil' Rob)]

Cuz now they don't ask where you're from no more (Where you from ese?)

They just roll along side and pump slugs in your car door (Fuck it homeboy)

So I don't ask nothing either (Trucha)

I just reach under my seat and heat em up with my heater

[Frank V]

Before you see me retire

You'll see gun fire

From a big barrel

Desert Eagle, not a sparrow

Ese you don't know me for shit, so stop thinking that

Liquor got you pumped up, you need to stop drinking that

Cuz ese we kill for real, try and feel

Before they find your remains on my Coupe Deville grill

I'm still crazy after all these years

All these beers, all the blood, sweat, and all these tears

That were shed, for all the homies that are dead

Fell victim to lead, I could give up, but instead

I rode that much harder when I'm out on the bricks

For every one they take of mine, I'm taking out six bitch

Starting off with you, then killing the rest of your punk ass crew

So you better run fast

Cuz those Low Pro Gangsters got some shells for that ass

[Chorus x2]

[Royal T]

Six in the morning, haters at my door

Fresh Nikes squeeking by the bathroom floor

Out my back window, I made my escape

Haters know I'm in my loof from the fresh mixtape

They try to rush my spot

Try to take what I got

I'm Royal T and my heater stay hot

.45 to be exact

Three clips in the mack

Bust shot after shot while I'm under attack

[Yogi]

I used to sport Cortez with my black cascade

In Junior High, hella high, getting the bad grades

Always squabbing with them fools from around the way

Cross your clique out and I leave my name

Four door Caprice Classic, semi-automatic

Don't get dramatic, fool I'll let you have it

Sweat on mi cara, bumping Santana

Jumping out the ranfla, fill you full of balas

[Chorus x2]