Brotha Lynch Hung Lyrics

Album: Loaded

Friend Of Mine Lyrics

I was rollin' through the hood one day 

Thought shit den calmed down, 

"Gang-bangin'" den played out by the years since I den been around 

Ain't talked to nobody from my block 

Cause all my niggas is locked up 

And it's been all ever I seen wit a guillotine 

So I was in the "Cut Supreme" 

Fifteen grams and some "greenodine" 

Ain't seen a block nigga since 

But now I'm off that kill green 

(Mothtafuckas ain't got no love for me) 

(Niggas wanna put some slugs in me) 

So I'm double 0 seven, murder redrum wit my three fifty seven 

Brotha Lynch Hung, but the bitches call me Kevin 

They try to make me think they close to me, but Neb'in [never] 

You know I gots to (say high) stay high, keep recipts for alibis 

And the meat they ate from them drive-bys ain't mine 

cause mine's a supe' desguise 

As I swoop the skies high off that buddha 

tah mixed the cusche and the purple hairs 

And it got me high 

(Now I'm rollin on the river) 

Labeled Mr. FedEx 

(Cause them bodies I deliver) 

Got to get to my next plot 

Unlock the freezer get the meat for the "rocks" [rotweilers] 

And heat the heat cause it's the "nine-neb'in" ['97] 

and it's hot den a mothafucka 

(All day everyday) I'mma stay loaded up, "krondike" in the trunk 

And a pound full of James Brown 

Cause I gots to get loaded so hold up soldier 

[Chorus: 2Xs] 

The count goes 

(One more pound of smoke and it's guaranteed to make a mothafucka 

choke) 

(Ain't got no down ass bitch at my side 

but I got some bomb ass weed in my ride) 

Nothin but notches, booches 

Fill my pockets, hit 'em up everyday, gotta have my pay 

The gaungay got me high now I'm paranoida den these booches 

Filthy rich, I'mma take the loot 

And the dig a ditch, tell your neighborhood bitch 

to miss me with that hoe shit 

Cause I'mma get this nigga when he surface 

And that's on everything I love, I gots to split his wig 

Opened up the little blue packet, stung him like a yellow-jacket 

Rib cage heavily padded, hit him with the automatic shells 

Send him to hell express from his mailing address 

We got his name, for sho', then we went to the house and did that shit 

I know I said I do it alone in the pass, everybody in the neighborhood 

knew 

somebody betta jack his ass up like a six-four impala 

You floatin' on dirty water 

Pack your shit up nigga like it's on only you and your ?woda-goda? 

Track your ass down, smoke your last pound 

[Chorus 2Xs] 

(If you smell any smoke it's just me and my homies gettin' blown) 

And I was late gettin' home, intoxicated 

Fight with my old lady 

she was comin at unreal, hit the blunt and now she's animated 

Motivate through you like a foggy mist 

You can hold me in your chest-plate like that nitro hit 

First Degree told me if the weed can toss 

It'll talk some shit, gotta get me an underspot 

make me a Hemp Museum like B-Legit 

I'm tryin to bump my head on the moon 

Live so high up in the mountains eatin' snake meat, fried raccoons 

With a attitude I need food to eat up 

smoke a fat blunt on my couch with my feet up 

Top notch program, DOS mode indo 95 upgrade siccmade 

Stay paid til the day on the ground, I'mma lay, I'mma stay loaded up 

In my trunk I got the blow you up and it'll blow you up 

And the count goes 

[Brotha Lynch Hung sends out shout outs til the end]