Z-Ro Lyrics

Album: Unknown

Block Bleeder Lyrics

f/ Den Den

 

 (*talking*)

 Z-Ro the Crooked, 2K motherfucking 1

 This for all my motherfucking block bleeders

 Fuck 9 to 5, know I'm saying

 I'm talking to the niggas that gon survive

 The motherfucking nine, nickels and dimes

 Stracks, fifty pack, feel that, nigga get your paper

 

 [Den Den]

 Got me pissed off frustrated, you know you outta line

 Plus I'm trying to count you getting high, off this Alabama tie

 Falling short of my plans, so my anger is rising

 Let me take out I-10, while my pressure is climbing

 I can't mind on drank, so I'm in another mode

 Moving way too fast, down this one way road

 Let me catch my snap, before I roll another crap

 And regret what I done, I been really shaft

 Its a fact that my block, be hotter than the sun

 You can sco' anything there, from drank to marijuana

 And the corner, is for the stronger heart

 Separate the men from the boys, and the weak from the smart

 And apart, from all these hoe ass laws

 Its a 24 no tolerance, for those that crawl

 Through my block, you might get your busted

 Dick in the dust, for fucking with us on my block

 

 [Chorus]

 Block bleeder, surviving in the game

 I wanna live righteous, but I need to stack change

 I know I'm going through it, but I gotta maintain

 Block bleeder, surviving in the game

 My block is on fire, and I'm addicted to the flame

 Stain after stain, know what I'm talking mayn

 

 [Z-Ro]

 Judge me not, on what you see, nigga

 Don't you realize, this life of mine is killing me

 Straight from a Christian, to a heartless killa

 Innocent child raised by the guerillas

 Military minded, plus I'm starving for scrilla

 Affiliated with killas, that shermed out and tooted

 But we don't know no better, paper's got our mind polluted

 I repent for my sins, cause I know my number's coming up

 I'm paranoid my nigga, don't be running up

 Whether friends or foe, I really don't know

 That's why I'm warning you Ro, you need to just

 Back up a ski taste, or I'll be tagging your toe

 Since these punk ass individuals, drag my name through the mud

 I ain't got nothing to say to niggas, unless they after the bud

 Pumping pack after pack, barley missing a platinum plack

 HPD be on a nigga with no slack, I want executive money

 The CEA, Chief Executive Artist, instead of 36 ounces

 Pistol grip and a cartridge, a block bleeder

 

 [Chorus]

 

 [Z-Ro]

 The block is hot as a clinic, but its profession to me

 And like Juve I'm posted up, so I can watch for the sweet

 I've been less fortunate, and had to hustle all my life

 Listening to people say, its gon be alright all my life

 I even got a lady that's been faithful, all my life

 She's still my gavel, cause I can't afford to call her my wife

 I should be thankful that Dennison Dre, done gave me some help

 But I'm depending on grown men, and I'm a grown man myself

 Feeling lesser than nothing, and barely fucking with zones

 Its like an obstacle course of dynamite, under every corner

 I bob and weave through the hard time, my life is pain

 From struggle where niggas fired, the reason that I record mine

 Infrared, nigga you better protect your head

 On my block when we kill eachother, no tears get shed

 You take a front from a nigga, you better be quick to pay up

 Bring his feddy back on time, or he'll be quick to spray ya

 Twenty Fo' seven packing a Mac 11, on my turf

 Running away from the police, chunking evidence like a Nurf

 I'd rather sell my own records, Chief Executive Artist

 Instead of 36 ounces pistol grip and a cartridge, a block bleeder

 

 [Chorus]