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lirik lagu scarface - dyin wit'cha boots on

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trouble seems to catch a motherf-cker with his cards down
gotta keep my drawers up, sh-t’s gettin hard now
these motherf-ckin cops be plantin sh-t on these n-gg-s
simply because these n-gg-s got bank accounts that’s bigger
i just can’t get no peace from you motherf-ckin rollers
everytime i pull my benz or what, ‘cha pull me over
i’m sick of motherf-ckers who be checking whitey’s c-ke tip
blacker than a motherf-cker, sweat me ’bout my -?dope-sip-?
n-gg-s just take your cut and get your -ss up out my face
the only thing you probably get from me is a c-ck-sucking pistol case
unless you plan on plantin a lil’ somethin in my sh-t
just because you ain’t got sh-t, b-tch!
give em a badge and a trigger and that makes em figure
that they can f-ck with a million dollar n-gg-
they got you mixed up, fixed up at the segas, shookin indo
gettin f-cked up in the gank-hole
the only way you’ll whip that motherf-cker is when you whip that
motherf-cker
and we choke the motherf-cker (me stuck the motherf-cker!)
so when you hear my song and wanna get it on
you better come prepared motherf-cker, you dyin wit’cha boots on

[chorus:]

(put ya foot in my sh-t and let me try on your hood)
dyin wit’cha boots on
(put ya foot in my sh-t and let me try on your hood)
yeah

[interlude:(prison guard talking to inmate)]

[guard:]
do you know how many years you’re facing inside?
25 to life and that’s on the real
so you better snitch on your partner
[inmate:]
f-ck that! it was brad dawg, i ain’t goin out by myself

n-gg-s gettin caught, doin time, so they snitchin
they pickin n-gg-s up on a funky -ss suspicion
we’ll be goin down for some questioning we think
and end up gettin hit with the f-ckin kitchen sink
racketeer and laundering, kingpin wondering
if they got some unsolved murders, then give him some of them
just because we’re n-gg-s and they figure we’re no smarter
we sell each other alb-ms, start frattin on our partners
they start bringin up sh-t that happened back in ’85
and then comes the largest jury, b-tch, they f-ckin time!
you might as well play the state
cos you come to day for day
and sellin out your homeboys ain’t the sh-t
cos y’all gonna have to die in this b-tch, b-tch!
lobbin wit’cha white suits on
and dyin wit’cha motherf-ckin boots on

(put ya foot in my sh-t and let me try on your hood)


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