(*talking*)
Worldwide can feel us, f**ing squealers
Southside drug dealers, n***as know us
Southside Playaz, sit down at the table 2000
Any n***a sitting down huh, getting checks
All the details, acting like some f**ing females
b**h go count a n***a money, simp a** n***a
[Godfather]
You rapping gift of gabbing, got the F.B.I. plotting
Got H-Town hot, like the banging in Watts
Trying to take me from my kids, you hot in a cot
Got prices on your head, your life about to get bought
24 hours, is definite you get shot
My homegirl f**ed you, that's just the point of the plot
Me and Pablo, doing devilish sh** like Diablo
Tyte Eyez out the gate, I got legitimate weight
Mike D called me up, said some n***a was squealing
Giving FED's photography, n***a street biographies
Told Clay-Doe, was flying birds through Luado
They said 3-2, was connected with some people
This n***a see through, rope him up smoke him up
Catch him coming home from the club drunk, and murdered the punk
Throw him in the trunk, all about that snitching sh**
Who we copping from, who we in the kitchen with
[Hook - 2x]
You might not live to tell, (oh well)
These n***as scared of jail, (like hell)
Telling everything they know, (like hoes)
You think it's all gravy, (well b**h you gotta go)
[Mr. 3-2]
n***a own up to your case, and take your f**ing charge
Don't be a coward motherf**er, when them laws snap the corde
He found barred that's infinity, you better open your mouth
Don't be scared till the b**h die, to hit that jail house
In the South it done got hot, federal agents don't love us
My boys is selling they soul, running they dick s**ers
Like Kilo and Little Man, the game done went deeper
Hope they know that it's over with, if they ever hit the streets
Some sh** you keep to yourself, and take it to the grave
You bit your tongue put to your throat, for information that you gave
I can't save no snitch, and give em no kinda ha**le
Let them words that you told, n***a be your last
[Hook - 2x]
[Clay-Doe]
I knew this candy and a hook up, ain't good with sorese
Had his peeky at the street, off bout a hundred a week
At least boss balling, motherf**er was paid
Use to take me to his crib, man b**h was laid
Then here come the raid, next to interrogation
On fo' hundred a gram, don't even care bout probation
Now n***a I ain't crazy, I ain't no god damn fool
If you told me that sh**, I woulda shot you too
I immediately knew, what I had to do
Took him up to his crib, had a bag by his pool
Told that n***a I had a surprise, and then I showed him
Looked that n***a in his eyes, and then I told him
[Hook - 2x]
[Mike D]
I know this n***a from the hood, use to juggle them goods
A stand up cat, did his dirt in the woods
Took him from a fifty packer, to a kilo stacker
Block bleeder fa sho, full time Columbian jacker
Took hood money to good money, put me in the studio
Wish I woulda knew then, how this dirty game go
n***a you think don't fold, go out like hoes
Pressure bust the pipe, this n***a sold his soul
Tied the whole click in, during interrogation
Turned a three brick hit, to a 21 vacation
Knowing you hit the streets, your ghetto pa** is void
Put fifty in that