| Letras de Canciones de Eminem | | |
| Artista: Eminem |
| Album: Eminem Presents: The Re-Up |
| Canción: Pistol pistol (remix) |
| | [Obie Trice (Eminem)]
(O trice common)
Yeah niggas got me
I´ma get em, it aint over
[Chorus - Obie Trice]
You can catch me in a wip with a fifth of pimp juice
And I´m popin a clip, bout to fix this issue
You pray that I don´t hit, I´m not equipped to miss you
Your gonna need an ambulance to stitch your tissue
Or either have a bag on your hip to shit through
You seen us on the ave, aim just to get you
But my penis is a mag when I lift it hit you
Cause I don´t go anywhere without my pistol pistol
[Verse 1- Obie Trice]
I, solemnly swear on my daughters tears
The nigga that got em in the head, and feel it before the year ends
Hope you inconspicuous my friend
Cause once the word get back, your in a world of sin
Bullets will hurdle at him
For try´in to murda whats been determined as the first solo African
And go platinum with an accident, happened that
But maggots I´m alive with vengeance to get back
My momma blood pressure was affected from that
My little girl need her daddy on the phone at a certain time, exact now
Them nigga act wild
But when the mac come out, you niggas X out
Now I don´t wanna hear X, Y , Z
im X´n out your whole entity for try´in to kill meFilthy mother fuckers I´ll show you what real be
When these HTB`s light up your kidneys
I´m so sincere, you seein it hurts this year
It´s not a verse it´s a curse from burse
And whats on your purse
And over hear, this is Obie here I´m clear
Niggers bewhere I´m commin at you with firearms an here
And your purpose on suprefinous, how can I be merciful
When mercamies is a mercenaries gold
Nigga I got paper, I´ll have your urgently exposed
No emergencies bringin back ur souls
Slugs shatter your bone for pat pat me in the dome
Learn is powderin
We catch him at home, he rome
That when automatics sporadically catch him in the abdomen
Another dirty mother fuckers gone, YEAH!
[Chorus - Obie Trice]
You can catch me in a wip with a fifth of pimp juice
And I´m popin a clip, bout to fix this issue
You pray that I don´t hit, I´m not equipped to miss you
Your gonna need an ambulance to stitch your tissue
Or either have a bag on your hip to shit through
You seen us on the ave, aim just to get you
But my penis is a mag when I lift it hit you
Cause I don´t go anywhere without my pistol pistol
(Gun shot (screams in background))
Second rounds on me
Robn´in, shoot´in. Kill´in, Murda
Oh shit run
Robn´in, shoot´in. Kill´in, Murda |
| | | | | Las letras de canciones pertenecen a sus autores y se muestran aquí por motivos educativos. | | |
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