season of da siccness lyrics – brotha lynch hung

(feat. sicx)

hit the dank and took my glock off lock, and off
to the 21st blocc, i’m rollin in a drop top
three for zero that black criminal mac mac n*gg*
that pap! pap! me hittin a couple of rounds
and while i test him, hey f*ck a smith & wesson
i got my, nine at my chest and i got my dime bag
of stress weed, a 40 oz. of oe and i’m creepin
up on some n*gg*s in a mob and a n*gg* claimin og,
pap! hit him in that dome and it was that n*gg*’s worst
put him on the ground wit a brain, full o’ dem nine slugs
so wrap that n*gg* up, put him in a he*rs*
and i’m hittin 50, right around that curb, tight,
rollin up in a 64, 4 doors sideways to the next light (you know)
an i hit that corner of 24 street, some n*gg* mean mugging
lynch, and i pop in a clip and i’m not finna get got,
i’ma shoot before i’m shot for the fact i’m bu-double ded
i’m reaching up in my glove box, for the welfare weed
that’s fillin a n*gg*’s siccness so i miss dead bodies
in an, oldsmobile, up on the curb and while i’m skirtin
p*ss the view wit an empty 9 and some bourbon (riiight)
i just adjust to the fact that n*gg*s aint got no hope
i’m fillin em up with 16s, and letting em know

[chorus]
it’s either that die, or that sickness, and it’s the n*gg* that n*gg* that
one you come see, with that 9 millimeter meter watch them 9 millimeter meat
wikkihdie come, wikkihtah come, wikkihtah come, wikkihtah e-drop, styling,
if i don’t get you with me nina then me, you, scream,
and two pop n*gg* that mine in the deuce for the deuce
without them gun sh*lls, firing, fidda them don’t know me when me high
off them doughshot killa weed, me take-a me nine millimeter nine,
and me blast him, enemy for the die, ’cause of dat siccness dem creep
and ten baumy and a them say

load up that nine i’m finna finna go boom!
them no dubbin up that nina cut them in half with some of them
ripgut, quality, for the fundamental cannibalism
got them black enemy runnin in and when them,
sickness kick in a million, baby dying, boom!

hit em with my g like every day, n*gg*,
from the creek to the garden blocc,
i was creepin from the double dead red till all the drama stop,
and 50 150 is all that shouldn’t even be on a n*gg*s list
’cause since for the f*ckin with i’ve been crazy times 6 charging in ’66 and um,
n*gg*s cant see my folk when i dump them .44 slugs all down they throat
it takes one time, all night, to peel your tonsols
from the phone post, you know,
all up in the cut with the real deuce deuce four love i got
but you know that n*gg* from the creek so peep at what this trigger got
come follow me sin, come quick ’cause i’m bustin all up on your, blocc
shakin up yo nuts like dice deuce four in the don’t strike twice
them gon all go say “oh” about 44 times till so,
much later than you go, better off dead, but n*gg* instead
that i let your mama know, she might wanna follow this fahlivum sh*t
’cause a n*gg* wont last much longer, with wraps in the cut
chewin all on your nuts like my n*gg* jeffrey dahlmer,
cant load that sh*t that sickness gets me harder than a corpse
till i reach for the greeds that n*gg* start jackin off until it hurts
swallow my sh*t so thick this n*gg* run loccs up on you almost daily
for the digs then i’m off d*ck grow soft with lynch i’m chewin up babies
we gonna stay sicc, for the crazy run em up gospel sh*t kicks in
it’s the n*gg* named 6 with the locc to the brain style fix
eatin up your dead skin

[chorus]

/ brotha lynch hung lyrics