Empty the Clip Lyrics
| Song | Empty the Clip |
| Artist | Flesh 'n' Bone |
| Album | T.H.U.G.S.: Trues Humbly United Gatherin' Souls |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Elliott, Howse, Love, Perkins | |
| (feat. Afta Maff) | |
| [Afta Maff] | |
| Hey, let me hear that first | |
| Nineteen-ninety Afta | |
| Cleveland up in this muthafucka | |
| Afta Maff up in this muthafucka, bitch | |
| Flesh-N-Bone | |
| Son of a bitch, you'll be runnin' up all the time | |
| Tryin' to test my hood | |
| I'm chillin' up in my hood up to no good | |
| Punk bitch, I wish you would, and flippin' the script | |
| And pop in my clip, and puttin' my pump-pump on ya | |
| And lettin' you see the fire in my eyes | |
| And now that ass is a fuckin' goner | |
| You can run up, gun up, and try to test me at will | |
| I'm fillin' you playa haters with nothin' but favors | |
| So bitch, you be guardin' your grill for real | |
| My niggas got no fame, it's breakin' you son-of-a-bitches off | |
| You fuckin' around with the big boss | |
| And I always got my Nina Ross | |
| Ain't catchin' a nigga slippin' up at the lights | |
| So don't trip, and takin' a hit of the sticky-sticky | |
| As I unload my clip, and thuggin' up in the Land | |
| And ya know we straight hustlas, and | |
| Never to be no bustas, and (?) say fuck ya | |
| (Gunfire) | |
| Kam-, Kam-, Kamikaze, come, come, come, come down | |
| Niggas better not slippin', come again | |
| ? niggas better not slip when I'm up to no good | |
| Kam-, Kam-, Kamikaze, come, come, come, come | |
| [Afta Maff] | |
| Afta Maff's comin' down your ass | |
| With the aerial strike body snatchin' me ? | |
| And deadly close and copper stress | |
| Gettin' away is slight | |
| And I ask myself what's the reason for | |
| That treason that you committed | |
| Open up killin' season, now it's time | |
| To get your fuckin' wig splitted | |
| Playa haters be makin' me relax into a dead spell again | |
| Somebody should have told them fuckin' | |
| With the Mo Thug your life expectancy ends | |
| Murder, like adrenaline, puts a physcotic | |
| Thought through my brain waves | |
| Muder mo, welcome to the terror-dome | |
| Flashbacks of me diggin' graves | |
| Torturin' slaves in the days | |
| Losin' my grip on reality, paranormal combat | |
| Hollow points always givin' me a flawless fatality | |
| Even bustin' at shadows is a muthafucka's ? | |
| Lettin'Kamikaze and Flesh-N-Bone decapitatin' you bitches' | |
| Dome with the chrome and infrared scan | |
| To stick clear is a safety tip | |
| From the docks to the Clair | |
| Me and my and niggas is emptyin' clips | |
| (clips, clips, clips, clips, clips, clips, clips, clips) | |
| (Inserting of clips, cocking of gun, gunshots) | |
| [Flesh] | |
| You niggas pop off at the mouth | |
| Time to stop or shots drop they ass | |
| Make 'em shut up they lip | |
| When we empty the clip on the Double Glock | |
| Trouble, now: Flesh and the Afta Maff | |
| Look out, my niggas, can't go when drop down my time | |
| Time to get it, hit it, grindin' on the double nine | |
| Find plenty ways to get the money, me money | |
| 'Cause then I'm a splurge on my kind | |
| Sippin' on a fifth of Rose wine | |
| Yeah, the Flesh-N-, the Flesh-N-muthafuckin' Bone | |
| Gettin' my tipsy on strong, always stay packin' that chrome | |
| Hopped in the (?) headed for the north | |
| Swerve, thug stroll, seventeenth up and against the ground | |
| Repeated the MAC-11, let a sound | |
| Kick, pump rounds, spit off my rounds | |
| Hop on my block, gotta get this click | |
| But they're stickin' their guns to me | |
| Thought that they got me, but I'm not, see | |
| Murder ? that glock pop pop bullets | |
| Empty out the clips, feel no sympathy for | |
| The people that I'm buckin' they lay | |
| Put 'em in a grave | |
| Away they stay shot the fuck up | |
| When my niggas they spray | |
| Should he pray to be saved? | |
| Hell yeah, but still no one came to your rescue | |
| Pop a lip on my corner, nigga, you's a goner | |
| Mo Thug be the niggas who test you, put you to rest | |
| Fool, and there ain't nothin' you can do to stop me | |
| From makin' this call up to my dogs | |
| Racin' over with the heat and makin' | |
| Sure that you takin' a fall | |
| All y'all want fuck with Flesh and the Afta Maff | |
| Then well, learnin' my lesson with this Wesson | |
| I'm a empty the clip on my weapon | |
| If a playa hater want to keep on stressin' | |
| Murder mo, murder mo... | |
| Mo murda, mo murda, come come again | |
| Come on, tell ya can't feel the Afta Maff | |
| 'Cause your lies gettin' larger by the seconds | |
| And ain't snatched but then ? | |
| While your soul slowly gets reincarnated | |
| But it's evident you heard the possibilities | |
| But you was over-estimated | |
| And you expected me to look deep in your eyes | |
| And bow down to scandalous way | |
| But see survival be one of the reasons thugs | |
| Be packin' their shit for protection | |
| When situations are life and death | |
| A real true gon' result to elimination | |
| For instance, I'm on the block | |
| Servin' stones to dope fiends | |
| Droppin' them dubs down 'til this knucklehead | |
| Wannabe thug tried to test my nuts for the showdown | |
| So I grabbed my security blanket, nigga | |
| My man, let's deal now with the pearl handles | |
| Spit out them hollow point tips | |
| 'Cause they're still rollin' for me | |
| And now they aimin' for me | |
| But my bitch, Nina Ross, is so freaky she started penetratin' | |
| See, niggas be thinkin' they got the game - | |
| All sewed up and ready maintain | |
| I'm pullin' the trigger to blow out your brain | |
| Now, I told ya, Mo Thug was insane | |
| Soldiers ride against the terror | |
| (Cocking of gun, emptying of clip) |
| zuo qu : Elliott, Howse, Love, Perkins | |
| feat. Afta Maff | |
| Afta Maff | |
| Hey, let me hear that first | |
| Nineteenninety Afta | |
| Cleveland up in this muthafucka | |
| Afta Maff up in this muthafucka, bitch | |
| FleshNBone | |
| Son of a bitch, you' ll be runnin' up all the time | |
| Tryin' to test my hood | |
| I' m chillin' up in my hood up to no good | |
| Punk bitch, I wish you would, and flippin' the script | |
| And pop in my clip, and puttin' my pumppump on ya | |
| And lettin' you see the fire in my eyes | |
| And now that ass is a fuckin' goner | |
| You can run up, gun up, and try to test me at will | |
| I' m fillin' you playa haters with nothin' but favors | |
| So bitch, you be guardin' your grill for real | |
| My niggas got no fame, it' s breakin' you sonofabitches off | |
| You fuckin' around with the big boss | |
| And I always got my Nina Ross | |
| Ain' t catchin' a nigga slippin' up at the lights | |
| So don' t trip, and takin' a hit of the stickysticky | |
| As I unload my clip, and thuggin' up in the Land | |
| And ya know we straight hustlas, and | |
| Never to be no bustas, and ? say fuck ya | |
| Gunfire | |
| Kam, Kam, Kamikaze, come, come, come, come down | |
| Niggas better not slippin', come again | |
| ? niggas better not slip when I' m up to no good | |
| Kam, Kam, Kamikaze, come, come, come, come | |
| Afta Maff | |
| Afta Maff' s comin' down your ass | |
| With the aerial strike body snatchin' me nbsp? | |
| And deadly close and copper stress | |
| Gettin' away is slight | |
| And I ask myself what' s the reason for | |
| That treason that you committed | |
| Open up killin' season, now it' s time | |
| To get your fuckin' wig splitted | |
| Playa haters be makin' me relax into a dead spell again | |
| Somebody should have told them fuckin' | |
| With the Mo Thug your life expectancy ends | |
| Murder, like adrenaline, puts a physcotic | |
| Thought through my brain waves | |
| Muder mo, welcome to the terrordome | |
| Flashbacks of me diggin' graves | |
| Torturin' slaves in the days | |
| Losin' my grip on reality, paranormal combat | |
| Hollow points always givin' me a flawless fatality | |
| Even bustin' at shadows is a muthafucka' s nbsp? | |
| Lettin' Kamikaze and FleshNBone decapitatin' you bitches' | |
| Dome with the chrome and infrared scan | |
| To stick clear is a safety tip | |
| From the docks to the Clair | |
| Me and my and niggas is emptyin' clips | |
| clips, clips, clips, clips, clips, clips, clips, clips | |
| Inserting of clips, cocking of gun, gunshots | |
| Flesh | |
| You niggas pop off at the mouth | |
| Time to stop or shots drop they ass | |
| Make ' em shut up they lip | |
| When we empty the clip on the Double Glock | |
| Trouble, now: Flesh and the Afta Maff | |
| Look out, my niggas, can' t go when drop down my time | |
| Time to get it, hit it, grindin' on the double nine | |
| Find plenty ways to get the money, me money | |
| ' Cause then I' m a splurge on my kind | |
| Sippin' on a fifth of Rose wine | |
| Yeah, the FleshN, the FleshNmuthafuckin' Bone | |
| Gettin' my tipsy on strong, always stay packin' that chrome | |
| Hopped in the ? headed for the north | |
| Swerve, thug stroll, seventeenth up and against the ground | |
| Repeated the MAC11, let a sound | |
| Kick, pump rounds, spit off my rounds | |
| Hop on my block, gotta get this click | |
| But they' re stickin' their guns to me | |
| Thought that they got me, but I' m not, see | |
| Murder nbsp? that glock pop pop bullets | |
| Empty out the clips, feel no sympathy for | |
| The people that I' m buckin' they lay | |
| Put ' em in a grave | |
| Away they stay shot the fuck up | |
| When my niggas they spray | |
| Should he pray to be saved? | |
| Hell yeah, but still no one came to your rescue | |
| Pop a lip on my corner, nigga, you' s a goner | |
| Mo Thug be the niggas who test you, put you to rest | |
| Fool, and there ain' t nothin' you can do to stop me | |
| From makin' this call up to my dogs | |
| Racin' over with the heat and makin' | |
| Sure that you takin' a fall | |
| All y' all want fuck with Flesh and the Afta Maff | |
| Then well, learnin' my lesson with this Wesson | |
| I' m a empty the clip on my weapon | |
| If a playa hater want to keep on stressin' | |
| Murder mo, murder mo... | |
| Mo murda, mo murda, come come again | |
| Come on, tell ya can' t feel the Afta Maff | |
| ' Cause your lies gettin' larger by the seconds | |
| And ain' t snatched but then nbsp? | |
| While your soul slowly gets reincarnated | |
| But it' s evident you heard the possibilities | |
| But you was overestimated | |
| And you expected me to look deep in your eyes | |
| And bow down to scandalous way | |
| But see survival be one of the reasons thugs | |
| Be packin' their shit for protection | |
| When situations are life and death | |
| A real true gon' result to elimination | |
| For instance, I' m on the block | |
| Servin' stones to dope fiends | |
| Droppin' them dubs down ' til this knucklehead | |
| Wannabe thug tried to test my nuts for the showdown | |
| So I grabbed my security blanket, nigga | |
| My man, let' s deal now with the pearl handles | |
| Spit out them hollow point tips | |
| ' Cause they' re still rollin' for me | |
| And now they aimin' for me | |
| But my bitch, Nina Ross, is so freaky she started penetratin' | |
| See, niggas be thinkin' they got the game | |
| All sewed up and ready maintain | |
| I' m pullin' the trigger to blow out your brain | |
| Now, I told ya, Mo Thug was insane | |
| Soldiers ride against the terror | |
| Cocking of gun, emptying of clip |
| zuò qǔ : Elliott, Howse, Love, Perkins | |
| feat. Afta Maff | |
| Afta Maff | |
| Hey, let me hear that first | |
| Nineteenninety Afta | |
| Cleveland up in this muthafucka | |
| Afta Maff up in this muthafucka, bitch | |
| FleshNBone | |
| Son of a bitch, you' ll be runnin' up all the time | |
| Tryin' to test my hood | |
| I' m chillin' up in my hood up to no good | |
| Punk bitch, I wish you would, and flippin' the script | |
| And pop in my clip, and puttin' my pumppump on ya | |
| And lettin' you see the fire in my eyes | |
| And now that ass is a fuckin' goner | |
| You can run up, gun up, and try to test me at will | |
| I' m fillin' you playa haters with nothin' but favors | |
| So bitch, you be guardin' your grill for real | |
| My niggas got no fame, it' s breakin' you sonofabitches off | |
| You fuckin' around with the big boss | |
| And I always got my Nina Ross | |
| Ain' t catchin' a nigga slippin' up at the lights | |
| So don' t trip, and takin' a hit of the stickysticky | |
| As I unload my clip, and thuggin' up in the Land | |
| And ya know we straight hustlas, and | |
| Never to be no bustas, and ? say fuck ya | |
| Gunfire | |
| Kam, Kam, Kamikaze, come, come, come, come down | |
| Niggas better not slippin', come again | |
| ? niggas better not slip when I' m up to no good | |
| Kam, Kam, Kamikaze, come, come, come, come | |
| Afta Maff | |
| Afta Maff' s comin' down your ass | |
| With the aerial strike body snatchin' me nbsp? | |
| And deadly close and copper stress | |
| Gettin' away is slight | |
| And I ask myself what' s the reason for | |
| That treason that you committed | |
| Open up killin' season, now it' s time | |
| To get your fuckin' wig splitted | |
| Playa haters be makin' me relax into a dead spell again | |
| Somebody should have told them fuckin' | |
| With the Mo Thug your life expectancy ends | |
| Murder, like adrenaline, puts a physcotic | |
| Thought through my brain waves | |
| Muder mo, welcome to the terrordome | |
| Flashbacks of me diggin' graves | |
| Torturin' slaves in the days | |
| Losin' my grip on reality, paranormal combat | |
| Hollow points always givin' me a flawless fatality | |
| Even bustin' at shadows is a muthafucka' s nbsp? | |
| Lettin' Kamikaze and FleshNBone decapitatin' you bitches' | |
| Dome with the chrome and infrared scan | |
| To stick clear is a safety tip | |
| From the docks to the Clair | |
| Me and my and niggas is emptyin' clips | |
| clips, clips, clips, clips, clips, clips, clips, clips | |
| Inserting of clips, cocking of gun, gunshots | |
| Flesh | |
| You niggas pop off at the mouth | |
| Time to stop or shots drop they ass | |
| Make ' em shut up they lip | |
| When we empty the clip on the Double Glock | |
| Trouble, now: Flesh and the Afta Maff | |
| Look out, my niggas, can' t go when drop down my time | |
| Time to get it, hit it, grindin' on the double nine | |
| Find plenty ways to get the money, me money | |
| ' Cause then I' m a splurge on my kind | |
| Sippin' on a fifth of Rose wine | |
| Yeah, the FleshN, the FleshNmuthafuckin' Bone | |
| Gettin' my tipsy on strong, always stay packin' that chrome | |
| Hopped in the ? headed for the north | |
| Swerve, thug stroll, seventeenth up and against the ground | |
| Repeated the MAC11, let a sound | |
| Kick, pump rounds, spit off my rounds | |
| Hop on my block, gotta get this click | |
| But they' re stickin' their guns to me | |
| Thought that they got me, but I' m not, see | |
| Murder nbsp? that glock pop pop bullets | |
| Empty out the clips, feel no sympathy for | |
| The people that I' m buckin' they lay | |
| Put ' em in a grave | |
| Away they stay shot the fuck up | |
| When my niggas they spray | |
| Should he pray to be saved? | |
| Hell yeah, but still no one came to your rescue | |
| Pop a lip on my corner, nigga, you' s a goner | |
| Mo Thug be the niggas who test you, put you to rest | |
| Fool, and there ain' t nothin' you can do to stop me | |
| From makin' this call up to my dogs | |
| Racin' over with the heat and makin' | |
| Sure that you takin' a fall | |
| All y' all want fuck with Flesh and the Afta Maff | |
| Then well, learnin' my lesson with this Wesson | |
| I' m a empty the clip on my weapon | |
| If a playa hater want to keep on stressin' | |
| Murder mo, murder mo... | |
| Mo murda, mo murda, come come again | |
| Come on, tell ya can' t feel the Afta Maff | |
| ' Cause your lies gettin' larger by the seconds | |
| And ain' t snatched but then nbsp? | |
| While your soul slowly gets reincarnated | |
| But it' s evident you heard the possibilities | |
| But you was overestimated | |
| And you expected me to look deep in your eyes | |
| And bow down to scandalous way | |
| But see survival be one of the reasons thugs | |
| Be packin' their shit for protection | |
| When situations are life and death | |
| A real true gon' result to elimination | |
| For instance, I' m on the block | |
| Servin' stones to dope fiends | |
| Droppin' them dubs down ' til this knucklehead | |
| Wannabe thug tried to test my nuts for the showdown | |
| So I grabbed my security blanket, nigga | |
| My man, let' s deal now with the pearl handles | |
| Spit out them hollow point tips | |
| ' Cause they' re still rollin' for me | |
| And now they aimin' for me | |
| But my bitch, Nina Ross, is so freaky she started penetratin' | |
| See, niggas be thinkin' they got the game | |
| All sewed up and ready maintain | |
| I' m pullin' the trigger to blow out your brain | |
| Now, I told ya, Mo Thug was insane | |
| Soldiers ride against the terror | |
| Cocking of gun, emptying of clip |
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