Your Lifes On The Line Lyrics
[Intro]
Nobody likes me
Nobody likes me, but that’s okay
‘Cause I don’t like y’all anyway
Man, I don’t like y’all anyway
Fuck all y’all
I let my watch talk for me, my whip talk for me
My gat talk for me, baow, what up, homie?
Them bitches who don’t know me, they wanna blow me
‘Cause the shit I floss with be saying a lot for me
[Verse 1]
I came in the rap humble, I don’t give a fuck now
I’ll serve anybody like niggas who hustle uptown (Uh-huh, uh-huh)
Coke price go up, capsules come down
The D’s run in my crib, I’m nowhere to be found
Niggas who hustle for me, they don’t even stash tracks
They keep ’em on ’em, right there in they ass crack (Yeah)
When I don’t like a nigga, I don’t pretend to
I’ll have the paramedics wrapping your fucking head like a Hindu
Look, I ain’t going nowhere, so get used to me
OGs look at me and see I’m what they used to be
I’m that nigga that sold coke, the nigga that sold dope
The nigga that shot dice, went broke, then sold soap
The thug that pop shit, the thug that pop clips
The thug that went from three and a half to a whole brick
Nigga ain’t in his right mind going against me
My pictures painted through words, I make a blind man see (Woo)
[Chorus]
Scream, “Murda,” I don’t believe you
“Murda,” fuck around and leave you
“Murda,” I don’t believe you
“Murda, murda,” your life’s on the line
[Post-Chorus]
Y’all niggas don’t want no parts of me
You tryna figure out how y’all started me
You gon’ make me catch you on a late night
Pop shots with the fifth, then slide off in the six
[Verse 2]
I’m not a marksman while sparking, so I spray random
Not a pretty nigga, but my moms think I’m handsome
I hate to hear he say, she say shit
Unless he say she said she on my dick
It’s no coincidence niggas who fuck with me get shot up (Blatt)
I do it Cali style, drive by and tear your block up
You soft, duke, you putting up a crazy front
I stay with the MAC ’cause niggas tried to blaze me once
In the hood, they like, “Damn, 50 really spit it on ’em”
“You heard that shit?” “Yeah, 50 really shitted on ’em”
Beef, you don’t want none, so don’t start none
You’re just a small player in this game, play your part, son
[Chorus]
Scream, “Murda,” I don’t believe you
“Murda,” fuck around and leave you
“Murda,” I don’t believe you
“Murda, murda,” your life’s on the line
[Verse 3]
These cats always escape reality when they rhyme (Uh-huh, uh-huh)
That’s why they write about bricks and only dealt with dimes (Yeah)
Leave it to them, and they say they got a fast car
NASCAR, truck with a crash bar
And TVs in the dash, pa
See ’em in the five with stock rims (Hahaha), I just laugh, pa
I catch stunts when I ain’t trying, I ain’t lying
I sip Dom P ’til I spit up, keep my wrist lit up
Get outta line, I get you hit up (Woo)
Now if you say my name in your rhyme, you better watch what you say
You get carried away, you could get shot and carried away
Now here’s a list of MCs that could kill you in eight bars
50, um, JAY-Z and Nas
I’ma say this shit now and never again
We ain’t buddies, we ain’t partners, and we damn sure ain’t friends
The games you playing, you get killed like that
Acting like you all hard, you ain’t built like that
See me when you see me, nigga, what?
[Chorus]
Scream, “Murda,” I don’t believe you
“Murda,” fuck around and leave you
“Murda,” I don’t believe you
“Murda, murda,” your life’s on the line
[Post-Chorus]
Y’all niggas don’t want no parts of me
You tryna figure out how y’all started me
You gon’ make me catch you on a late night
Pop shots with the fifth, then slide off in the six