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Big Pokey & Chris WardDon't Play lyrics |
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Artist: Big Pokey & Chris Ward lyrics Album: Mob 4 Life Year: 2005 Title: Don't Play |
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Lyrics to Don't Play :
[talking:]
I don't play, make way
AK, Sensei
[Big Pokey:]
Pimping ain't a thang, so I swang on these youngsters
I bang on these heffers, and make these hoes swim
The bitch can't swim, she's bound to drown
A crock might lock on, and spin her round and round
Thirteen can't find me, I drowned the hounds
Put the weed in the commode, and drown the pounds
Fo' hundred rounds, two two-hundred clips
Whoever my target is, gon do two hundred flips
My 15's bang, like two hundred Crips
On your block, sounding like two hundred whips
My pockets swoll, like they done two hundred dips
And I don't use money clips, just plastic bags
These niggaz jumping fly, but they crashing fast
Don't make me tell my set snipers, to blast the Mags
I'm a toe tagger, move 'fore that ass get dagged
Pistol whipped, stomped and whipped I don't play
[Hook x2:]
I don't play, one deep I'll rock your block
Make way, it's the cat that they got to stop
AK, that's for cats that don't like to box
Sensei, I'm a crock bull I got's to lock
[Big Pokey:]
Hard times and pain, got a nigga mind locked
I'm frustrated, about to pull that iron out
I'm trying not, to lose my cool
But I'ma grind it out, I refuse to lose
And I'm a hog dog, and do what I do
You better watch out, 'fore I do it to you
Cause when I come through, your do' on the lake
It's feather weight, letting off eight in your chest plate
Might choke your scwol, till the tramp suffocate
Then C4 the place, cause that'll close the case
I rock glocks, I don't fuck with beepers
I pull boulders out my sneakers, and feed deakers
I rap now nigga, I bleed speakers
Majors trying to peep us, FED's trying to keep us
Treat us how you meet us, real know real
Take it how it come, nigga move up the field
[Hook x2]
[Big Pokey:]
M.O.B. me, I'm the Boss of the click
I'm in the kitchen tossing a brick, my ounces are thick
All I need is pyrex gaws, to fork all with
I'm throwing hard to the block, like Bret Favre or Vick
I got a mean gauge game, my Revolver sick
It keep throwing up bullets, my Revolver sick
Don't involve your click, them niggaz'll get it
I run with a mobbish click, them niggaz is with it
Niggaz get hit, when I cock my fo' back
Franko chain and a fitted, when I rock my throwback
I keep it gutter, ounces of yay like toast
I keep it butter, big ol' slab when I cut her
I come from the street nigga, in a hard way
Is how I eat niggaz, so you know I might cheat niggaz
Light on my feet nigga, hands like pipes
Break niggaz off, and it's on on sight nigga
[Hook x4]
[talking:]
Make way nigga, straight up
I'm coming at ya, I ain't stopping
You know me, M.O.B.
I don't play make way, AK Senei
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