lirik lagu brotha lynch hung & sicx - nigga deep
[intro: sicx]
yeah.. luchini, swartzan-gga, haha
that’s why you gonna die
c.o.s., northgate, my n-gga fig, tall cann g, capone
i’m that n-gga sicx
[verse 1: sicx]
ain’t nathin funny about this money i’m tryin to make, straight broke
so everything i take serious cause 4-25 ain’t no f-ckin joke
an everyday struggle, puttin down this hustle’s harder that it looks
but the mo’ dirt, that i do the mo’ these n-ggas hooked on bein a crook
skrillas my major concern i’m burnin just to get a sniff
of that scratch, but the catcher can’t see me so i’ll be ski’n
with my mask on; ski money gets my blast on, in a major way
so my paper stays stacked, way back behind some boxes
in that (?) wait that n-gga in k!lla cali stay real
automatically k!ll, without no feelings still gets dirty
then i’m that-a-way, clockin mo’ luchi than john belushi
made from +blues brothers+ so choose your mother’s funeral dress
then feel my smif & wes, shiftin through you vest, rippin up your chest
pickin up the rest cause when i does my dirt won’t leave a mess
all by my lonesome most of them (??)
blocks stay hot like rock spots, with one-time posin on each block
i want g-knots, so i eavesdrops, on c-spots
then i’m out with 5-0 never knowin about my caper
at home countin up that paper
can’t wait to, go robbin through your hood
mr. invisible’s only concern is, to get his
when i get caught with them residuals n-gga
[hook: sicx]
so call me mr. no prints, i never leaves a clue
in and out the cut ‘fore you know who gettin who
+mysteries unsolved+, that’s why you never seen
the one that they call sicx, on yo’ late night tv screen
call me mr. no prints, i never leaves a trace
in and out the cut with a ski-mask on my face
25 to life, that’s not on my agenda
that’s why i’m in and out before you have time to remember
[verse 2: c.o.s.]
i let your blood spill, then chase the murder with some 8-ball
and never leave a trace, i’m in and up outta the cut soon as you fall
leave blood all over the walls, cause my m-ssive blows to the dome
from the .44 chrome that was shown
but it ain’t no case cause the bodies all gone
in the trunk of the chev’, about to get thrown up off the lid
cause whoever in the crib won’t live
when i kick through yo’ door with some o.j. gloves hold onto my .44
so call me mr. no prints — cause i never leave no evidence
i k!ll off all the witnesess, then i vacate the premises
sh-t, that’s just another residence victim of them k!llas
gettin hit up by that (?) swartzan-gga sh-t
don’t make me spill yo’ blood
and i’m hittin the bud as soon as i see them brains go split-splat
see n-ggas and b-tches get left for dead and alla they kids get kidnapped
put a fresh (?) on our (?) cause we planned and plotted
premeditated then waited for the right time then we got ’em
shot through the do’, with the flag, hockey ski-mask on my face
cuz see, i just don’t give a f-ck
as long as they can’t see us make our escape
and that’s just in case, by some slim chance we leave someone alive
that’s why we in and up outta the cut so fast they can’t identify at all
gettin high — count up our dollars and our sins
thinkin about how easy it is to murder like this
and leave no prints, n-gga
[hook: c.o.s.]
so call me mr. no prints, i never leaves a clue
in and out the cut ‘fore you know who gettin who
+mysteries unsolved+, that’s why you never seen
the one that they call c.o.s., on your tv screen
call me mr. no prints, i never leaves a trace
in and out the cut with a ski-mask on my face
25 to life, that’s not on my agenda
that’s why i’m in and out before you have time to remember
[verse 3: tall cann g]
call me mr. 211 a.k.a. jack-yo–ss, 187 blast
hit a n-gga like stick’n’move, then dash on that -ss
gettin away, wit a ski-mask on my face
if there ain’t no description then there ain’t no f-ckin case
fin’ ta hit your block tight, with my glock hidden up under my seat
let it pop ’til you drop, ’til you dead up in the street
guts and meats all over the concrete, ain’t no time to sleep
upon this n-gga with this trigger love to swig that malt liquor
cause i’m sick with that olde english sh-t, heads gon’ split
black chrome spit, ’til you layin up in a ditch
so f-ck your whole cl!ck, fill ’em up with them 16 slugs
k!ll ’em up with that siccness love – do or die
who the f-ck am i? – tall cann
21st meet your worst nightmare, leave ’em right there
bl–dy up in the mud, cause this n-gga ain’t got no love
wear my gloves, cause i’m bouts to gets my hands dirty
guts all over the place, face ready for plastic surgery
never showin no mercy, in a hurry to do my dirt, then i’m out
put my strap deep in yo’ mouth, try to take yo’ tonsils out
so watch for the ricochet, for my n-ggas they dumpin
with no clue where they comin from punk
then i’m out your block with an empty glock
y’all n-ggas knowin nothin
[hook: tall cann g]
so call me mr. no prints, i never leaves a clue
in and out the cut ‘fore you know who gettin who
+mysteries unsolved+, that’s why you never seen
the n-gga tall cann on that late night tv screen
call me mr. no prints, i never leaves a trace
in and out the cut with a ski-mask on my face
25 to life, that’s not on my agenda
that’s why i’m in and out before you have time to remember
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