lirik lagu stat quo - south coast
[intro: stat quo (young buck)]
(g-unit!)
stat quo, n-gg-! (gunz up!)
gmm, ya understand me? (gunz up!)
young mothaf-cka buck! (gunz up!)
g-unit’s and stat with him! (buck! buck!)
yeah
[stat quo:]
looka here, pimp! (pimp!) – boss hawg, brah (boss hawg, brah!)
grown man, chicken, b-tch drama, we have it.
from atlanta, home of hammers a lot of folk – they scandlous
they hate-off, like “d-mn! ” cause, they’ll feed your face to the cannon. (ball up!)
knuckle up, punk; pop the trunk, c-ck it, dump! (whooo!)
body slump, it’s hard, punk! – sugar water started crunk!
f-ckin’ with my clique, gets you stomped!
ride on my enemies, crush my comp!
leave their bodies covered with lumps
if for what they don’t really want!
the master haymaker, southcoast jaw breaker! (jaw breaker!)
talkin’ the ying yang when you shoot like a salt shaker. (yeah!)
the hater undertaker wishin’ death for jealous fakers
mad ’cause i’m gettin’, paper vaccine high makers. (oooh!)
stat quo! (gmm!) – know the name, buddy! (know the name, buddy!)
we have -ssembled an empire in the d-mn money! (whoo!)
ride clean down the strip sippin’ brown bubbly (uhh!)
my mind on my grip representin’ the d-mn dirty!
[chorus: stat quo {young buck}]
this be that south – coast sh-t (oh!)
and you better ‘fo figure what the f-ck don’t you get? {gmm! } (get!)
’cause we be that +grown man gang+
and we towin’ big thangs and my pocket’s got good thangs! {g-unit! } [x2]
[young buck:]
f-ck ’em, they keep tellin’ me. (what?) – buck gon’ catchin’ felony! (daaamn!)
i should’nt have to weigh up what you sellin’ me; but gettin’ steal.
n-gg-s holla, keep it real! (keep it real!) – they gonna stab you in your back,
but i ain’t seeing nothing here! (naaah!) – i’m a grab you in your back!
i’m the platinum in your plaque! – i’m the c-ke that’s in your pack
i heard them n-gg-s h-t you up! (ooohh!) – i’m them bullets in your back! (boo!)
breach behind them walls all i got is some banana clips (aaaiiight!)
50 keep on tellin’ me, nahh, but i’m gonna handle it!
they love me in los angeles, the dirty south streets know that
buck can buck wild! – got ’em buckin’ on the eastcoast! (c’mon!)
c-ck it back and pop it twice! (boom!) – cook the crack rocks for the vice! (boom!)
play it cool, and pay his price; (boom!) set him up and take his life! (boom!)
that’s why we dirty-dirty (dirty-dirty!) n-gg-s don’t mind breakin’ bread
momma gave us tofu! – daddy taught us how to bust heads!
so come on down to this town for the outlaws.
we got the police scared, they won’t even answer house calls!
[chorus]
[stat quo:]
yeeah, yeeah! – i’m in the air, c-ckin’ the mast. – squeezin’ all over scraggs!
put a hole off in your – bag. – fell off on the wrong track!
that’s where the fiends at! – white, brown, and green at!
cook it up! chop it up! wrap it up! then reel it right back (yeeah!)
this be that south sh-t, gmm who i run with!
we gettin’ bread in the bun this weed so trailin’ dumb!
they get it twisted, get stomped – {on floor} ridin’ around – {exposed}
haters get mad because they {still broke}
what you expect dawg? – i’m c-e-o! (c-e-o!)
tv flow! – spit like hbo!
and if rap don’t work i hit the strip for dough
and if the strip don’t work, i’ll probably pimp your hoes! (get!)
[chorus]
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