Slangin' Lyrics - Singles - Fiend

[master p] 

Yo, what's up nigga, this the colonel, mp. 

But uh, fiend nigga, it's your muthafuckin time to shine. 

You gon mix this shit up with bun b and pimp c. 

U.g.k. and fiend? this straight for all the niggas in the hood 

Niggas on the corner, every nigga in the penitentitary. 

Nigga, this busta muthafuckin free. this for all the real 

Niggas and bitches out there, ya heard me? no limit style. 

Told y'all muthafuckas ain't no limit. 

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[bun b] 

You muthafucka, I don't feel where you comin from 

I don't like your zone, bitch, your microphone bitch 

Your tone switch sound like you wanna dig your own ditch 

It's my pleasure to bring the shovel 

You been lookin for trouble 

So me and c and fiend gon bust your bubble on the double 

Hut one, hut two, march nigga, fire off that torch nigga 

Straighten it out like starch nigga 

When I'm parched nigga, take a sip of some kerosene 

Mixed with promythosene, turn your block to a terror scene 

Shit you ain't never seen 

Twenty millimeter tank rounds eatin up everything 

Nowhere to run, hide, or back down 

I put my mack down, picked up my ass kicker 

Cause it blast thicker, hose and get off in that ass quicker 

The last nigga figured, he had a chance 

To make it to that chopper, shit in his pants 

Make the murder man dance 

We shine like clusters, to leave you in the dust 

Cause we tryin, to get rid a all you haters 

And you muthafuckin bustas 

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[chorus:(1) fiend] 

Boy, we down south bangin 

Rollin with these hustlers 

Tryin to get rid a you hatas and you bustas 

[chorus:(2) fiend] x 3 

Down south slangin 

Rollin with these hustlers 

Tryin to get rid a you hatas and you bustas 

[pimp c] 

I got the cocaine lady, white lady, by the key 

I get them whole for ten, double up for seventeen 

Two outta one, step on it to win 

They essay's is my partna, mafia stamp on the end 

Two block solid, each one worth one 

I rock it up my seven and I chop it up with bun 

A pocket fulla stones, hollin bout a wrong 

Smokin, ridin dirty, got a chip up in my cellphone 

Keep this shit pumped 

Get to pop the trunk 

Feelin light headed off some california skunk 

And bitch I come from texas and love that shit to lean 

I'm down with dj screw and bitch it's u.g.k. and fiend 

And we ridin with some killas, niggas bout they drama 

Pimp like a wheelers, and bitches like pirahnas 

I'm sweet james jones, a pimp and a hustler 

Tryin to get rid a all you hatas 

And you muthafuckin pussy ass bustas 

[chorus:(2)] x 4 

[fiend] 

What's the sense of it all? 

Pimpin, powder, and pussy tryin to make pennies 

Payin off, so friendly to flip with my people give me 

If any doubt, the south, in every show today, blown away 

From the wrong way, I'm killin these niggas the jones way 

Let the psalm say, he died as a hata 

Sooner than later, shoulda pop em since the incubator 

My life is droppin heron, at the sharon 

Lookin, death dead on 

Knowin I was dead wrong 

From the sad songs, have you been to my city? 

If you ain't got shitty, everything is far from pretty 

But I'm one bad fucker that's always claimin tank 

Niggas know n.o., dank, and elevate 

My rank, what you call it? 

Bustin out the expedition 

Fiend pimpin, blowin up corns coke and cat emissions 

My livin, resist the no limit and stashin a duster 

Servin the cluckers, poppin it undercover 

We gettin rid a bustas 

[chorus:(2)] x 6