A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

BROTHA LYNCH HUNG lyrics : "One Mo Pound"

I was rollin' through the hood one day
Thought %#@! 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 ^!$$%s 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 ^!$$% since

But now I'm off that kill green
(Mothta$#&@as ain't got no love for me)
(^!$$%s wanna put some slugs in me)

So I'm double 0 seven, murder redrum wit my three fifty seven
Brotha Lynch Hung, but the (*##$es 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 motha$#&@a
(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: x2]


The count goes
(One more pound of smoke and it's guaranteed to make a motha$#&@a choke)

(Ain't got no down $$# (*##$ at my side
but I got some bomb $$# 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 (*##$
to miss me with that hoe %#@!

Cause I'mma get this ^!$$% 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 %#@!

I know I said I do it alone in the pass, everybody in the neighborhood knew
somebody betta jack his $$# up like a six-four impala
You floatin' on dirty water

Pack your %#@! up ^!$$% like it's on only you and your ?woda-goda?
Track your $$# down, smoke your last pound


[Chorus x2]

(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 %#@!, 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]

Submit Corrections