Secondz A Way Lyrics - Brotha Lynch Hung

(first degree): 

Shit done changed, the strip got bigger 

To make my ends I got the wheel and the trigger 

I get my swerve on with the 80 p liquor 

The liquor bring out the nigga in this nigga 

Got me huntin' with my musket, barred down with substance 

Bringin' my ruckus to the rival fuckas in rival clusters 

I'm still givin' birth to perfect joints, I keep it steady 

Still mixin' up with skeet sours, I like them heavy 

Heavy'll put a little bass in your voice 

Yamps choice, no rolls royce but I keep it moist 

I keep it saucy, ya bossy bitch talkin' that costly shit 

Bossy bitch think she too flossy to trip 

I'm first muthafuckin' degree, not your average, 

I'll have your boulevard hoppin' 

Poppin' off when a baller pack a package of suckin' 

Fuck you fuckin' up duck, stuck like chuck, now, now getcha dome in the trunk 

As we donut, I dump, I seen too many moons, took the minds of too many bufoons 

Fools with no clues that love to watch my aura glisten, 

They still don't listen 

I... i got pot that's hot to trot, can't stop, won't stop 

I got lynch hung in my backseat sniffin' for cops 

I receipts of tweed purchase, medical purpose, write off at text time 

So y'all go home, light the smoke, it's relax time 

Related 

Naughty & Nice Christmas Songs 

Watch Cardi B Joins James Corden For Carpool Karaoke 

Ariana Grande Adds Her Own Verse To "Last Christmas" 

Chorus: 

Now I apologize for smoke on my mind 

I been workin' hard and I got to unwind 

About the j.o.a. stayin' in my brain 

But I'm seconds away from goin' insane 

Now I need to lift away 

(lynch): 

Now you niggas know I come sick like a lunatic 

Man, they must be high 'cause they really don't know who they fuckin' with 

I used to have them all bombed out 

Drink alize wine, then rhyme and smoke tweeds till we dropped out 

I got the chop out, no doubt, 

'cause if it ain't about rappin', gunplay's gon' happen 

'cause I'm tappin' at yo' window, off that indo, more sacs than santana 

Better check your antenna on your radio or your stereo or your video 

'cause I'm not that pretty, but in the bedroom I'm critical 

You got your chance, now use 

Hit you with the loaded album, coutesty of siccmade music 

Evidently you got something against me 

Don't you tempt me, minty smells of the 20 sac of indo, killafornia's best 

Player haters die a slow death, slow death 

Photos 

Chorus 

(ice-t): 

I don't wear no chuck taylors and don't sag my pants 

But I still lift the switch and make this 64 dance 

More niggas with me now than I had in the hood 

And they down for whatever and that's all to the good 

Wish you would test my technique and heart, nigga what? 

Nigga, fuck that, bitch nigga what? baby, duck! 

What you wanna do now, ya bleedin' from the floor 

Nigga wanted beef, now he wants beef no more 

That's how I'm coming 9-6, bitch, rich and mad 

Hoes in bikinis, rag lambroginis, overseer runnin' mad streets 

Creepers with beepers and stash spots for glocks 

And under car escobar style, buck wild, you been there, you know the terrain 

Niggas go insane, tryin' to get the green 

I'm just surviving on the streets with my peeps 

And I'm livin' for the day I catch a punk on the creep, yeah 

Chorus