You Got Shot Lyrics
| Song | You Got Shot |
| Artist | Prince Paul |
| Album | Prince Among Thieves |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Coles, Diggs, Dolby, Harris ... | |
| (feat. Breeze, Sha) | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [ODB x4] "You got shot cuz you knocked knocked knocked | |
| Who's there, another mother****in hard rock" | |
| [True/Sha] | |
| If you knock on my door, you better been there before | |
| Cuz for trespassin, you know I got the cure | |
| I sleep wit hot lead, and it'll be dawn 'fore dead | |
| I'll let my girl go 'fore my gun leaves my bed | |
| Every man want heaven, but no man want dead | |
| As the pope once said, 'fore the dred lost his head | |
| So I keep my door locked, my gun cold-cocked | |
| First nigga that knock, I'm lightin up the whole block | |
| Test me not if you don't want to get hot | |
| Cuz I have missing posters filled wit all you hard rocks | |
| And I suggest, if you don't want to get blessed | |
| Just remember to wear your bullet-proof vest | |
| "You got shot cuz you not not not | |
| Who's there another mother" "BLAOW" | |
| [Tariq/Breeze] | |
| It's showdown, brother high noon | |
| My soul questin like old Westerns | |
| The low down gonna die soon | |
| The True fake, you gonna fall to rock-bottom | |
| When my glock spot em, then for you snake you gonna crawl | |
| Crumblin, messin wit me, definitely humblin | |
| Mumblin mercy, thirsty I need to hear it | |
| I need your spirit decimated, desecrated my core up to the extreme | |
| Before you do your next scheme, deserve to leave you sufferin | |
| You gots to catch a payback, from her to me | |
| Your brother been your brother kid from way back | |
| Ain't no shame in your drama | |
| You will be feelin the heat from you stealin my beat | |
| Down to you gamin my mama | |
| Aimin a bomb to finish wit you, diminsh split you | |
| You done pushed me, shit I didn't even get to kill that pussy | |
| But now I'm bout to kill it, fill it, spill it on this pavement | |
| Your scream'll satisfy my Wes Craven/craving | |
| [Chorus x2] | |
| [Tariq/Breeze] | |
| Yo word is bond son, I'm sayin niggaz | |
| When I see that nigga, yo that's my word | |
| Shit is gonna be so real for that nigga | |
| Yo, I'm sayin | |
| [True/Sha] | |
| My cream I protect, your dreams I respect | |
| My plan to hard rock shit be snappin at your neck | |
| I thirst for beef, hot lead spells relief | |
| So play your position, brave nigga I'm the chief | |
| And all that hard rock shit gon get you closer to redrum | |
| And reachin for your pistol, I can say that's quite dumb | |
| So leave it alone, you've been dethroned | |
| That's only if your black ass wanna make it home | |
| [Tariq/Breeze] | |
| You're gettin carried away | |
| Wit pallbearers, twist you while I'm wettin | |
| That be the way it's all clear wit Mr. L | |
| Gone black, I'm tellin him you was plottin for cheddar | |
| To hell wit him, you forgotten | |
| Against my contract, we could do this like Judas | |
| Blast you wit your style, mastered it so foul | |
| Leave you clueless like "who this?" | |
| Carma caught you kid, I'm ****in sicker than true lies | |
| I'ma scorch a nigga, comin thicker wit new rise | |
| It's hard to live, knowin that you doin the same | |
| Knowin about you and your game, let God forgive | |
| I won't see I don't give a **** son | |
| I give a buck in gross earning, you eatin the heat in my toast burnin | |
| "You got shot cuz you knocked knocked knocked | |
| Who's there another mother****in hard rock" | |
| "You got shot cuz you knocked knocked knocked | |
| Who's there another mother" [gun shots] |
| zuo ci : Coles, Diggs, Dolby, Harris ... | |
| feat. Breeze, Sha | |
| Chorus | |
| ODB x4 " You got shot cuz you knocked knocked knocked | |
| Who' s there, another mother in hard rock" | |
| True Sha | |
| If you knock on my door, you better been there before | |
| Cuz for trespassin, you know I got the cure | |
| I sleep wit hot lead, and it' ll be dawn ' fore dead | |
| I' ll let my girl go ' fore my gun leaves my bed | |
| Every man want heaven, but no man want dead | |
| As the pope once said, ' fore the dred lost his head | |
| So I keep my door locked, my gun coldcocked | |
| First nigga that knock, I' m lightin up the whole block | |
| Test me not if you don' t want to get hot | |
| Cuz I have missing posters filled wit all you hard rocks | |
| And I suggest, if you don' t want to get blessed | |
| Just remember to wear your bulletproof vest | |
| " You got shot cuz you not not not | |
| Who' s there another mother" " BLAOW" | |
| Tariq Breeze | |
| It' s showdown, brother high noon | |
| My soul questin like old Westerns | |
| The low down gonna die soon | |
| The True fake, you gonna fall to rockbottom | |
| When my glock spot em, then for you snake you gonna crawl | |
| Crumblin, messin wit me, definitely humblin | |
| Mumblin mercy, thirsty I need to hear it | |
| I need your spirit decimated, desecrated my core up to the extreme | |
| Before you do your next scheme, deserve to leave you sufferin | |
| You gots to catch a payback, from her to me | |
| Your brother been your brother kid from way back | |
| Ain' t no shame in your drama | |
| You will be feelin the heat from you stealin my beat | |
| Down to you gamin my mama | |
| Aimin a bomb to finish wit you, diminsh split you | |
| You done pushed me, shit I didn' t even get to kill that pussy | |
| But now I' m bout to kill it, fill it, spill it on this pavement | |
| Your scream' ll satisfy my Wes Craven craving | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| Tariq Breeze | |
| Yo word is bond son, I' m sayin niggaz | |
| When I see that nigga, yo that' s my word | |
| Shit is gonna be so real for that nigga | |
| Yo, I' m sayin | |
| True Sha | |
| My cream I protect, your dreams I respect | |
| My plan to hard rock shit be snappin at your neck | |
| I thirst for beef, hot lead spells relief | |
| So play your position, brave nigga I' m the chief | |
| And all that hard rock shit gon get you closer to redrum | |
| And reachin for your pistol, I can say that' s quite dumb | |
| So leave it alone, you' ve been dethroned | |
| That' s only if your black ass wanna make it home | |
| Tariq Breeze | |
| You' re gettin carried away | |
| Wit pallbearers, twist you while I' m wettin | |
| That be the way it' s all clear wit Mr. L | |
| Gone black, I' m tellin him you was plottin for cheddar | |
| To hell wit him, you forgotten | |
| Against my contract, we could do this like Judas | |
| Blast you wit your style, mastered it so foul | |
| Leave you clueless like " who this?" | |
| Carma caught you kid, I' m in sicker than true lies | |
| I' ma scorch a nigga, comin thicker wit new rise | |
| It' s hard to live, knowin that you doin the same | |
| Knowin about you and your game, let God forgive | |
| I won' t see I don' t give a son | |
| I give a buck in gross earning, you eatin the heat in my toast burnin | |
| " You got shot cuz you knocked knocked knocked | |
| Who' s there another mother in hard rock" | |
| " You got shot cuz you knocked knocked knocked | |
| Who' s there another mother" gun shots |
| zuò cí : Coles, Diggs, Dolby, Harris ... | |
| feat. Breeze, Sha | |
| Chorus | |
| ODB x4 " You got shot cuz you knocked knocked knocked | |
| Who' s there, another mother in hard rock" | |
| True Sha | |
| If you knock on my door, you better been there before | |
| Cuz for trespassin, you know I got the cure | |
| I sleep wit hot lead, and it' ll be dawn ' fore dead | |
| I' ll let my girl go ' fore my gun leaves my bed | |
| Every man want heaven, but no man want dead | |
| As the pope once said, ' fore the dred lost his head | |
| So I keep my door locked, my gun coldcocked | |
| First nigga that knock, I' m lightin up the whole block | |
| Test me not if you don' t want to get hot | |
| Cuz I have missing posters filled wit all you hard rocks | |
| And I suggest, if you don' t want to get blessed | |
| Just remember to wear your bulletproof vest | |
| " You got shot cuz you not not not | |
| Who' s there another mother" " BLAOW" | |
| Tariq Breeze | |
| It' s showdown, brother high noon | |
| My soul questin like old Westerns | |
| The low down gonna die soon | |
| The True fake, you gonna fall to rockbottom | |
| When my glock spot em, then for you snake you gonna crawl | |
| Crumblin, messin wit me, definitely humblin | |
| Mumblin mercy, thirsty I need to hear it | |
| I need your spirit decimated, desecrated my core up to the extreme | |
| Before you do your next scheme, deserve to leave you sufferin | |
| You gots to catch a payback, from her to me | |
| Your brother been your brother kid from way back | |
| Ain' t no shame in your drama | |
| You will be feelin the heat from you stealin my beat | |
| Down to you gamin my mama | |
| Aimin a bomb to finish wit you, diminsh split you | |
| You done pushed me, shit I didn' t even get to kill that pussy | |
| But now I' m bout to kill it, fill it, spill it on this pavement | |
| Your scream' ll satisfy my Wes Craven craving | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| Tariq Breeze | |
| Yo word is bond son, I' m sayin niggaz | |
| When I see that nigga, yo that' s my word | |
| Shit is gonna be so real for that nigga | |
| Yo, I' m sayin | |
| True Sha | |
| My cream I protect, your dreams I respect | |
| My plan to hard rock shit be snappin at your neck | |
| I thirst for beef, hot lead spells relief | |
| So play your position, brave nigga I' m the chief | |
| And all that hard rock shit gon get you closer to redrum | |
| And reachin for your pistol, I can say that' s quite dumb | |
| So leave it alone, you' ve been dethroned | |
| That' s only if your black ass wanna make it home | |
| Tariq Breeze | |
| You' re gettin carried away | |
| Wit pallbearers, twist you while I' m wettin | |
| That be the way it' s all clear wit Mr. L | |
| Gone black, I' m tellin him you was plottin for cheddar | |
| To hell wit him, you forgotten | |
| Against my contract, we could do this like Judas | |
| Blast you wit your style, mastered it so foul | |
| Leave you clueless like " who this?" | |
| Carma caught you kid, I' m in sicker than true lies | |
| I' ma scorch a nigga, comin thicker wit new rise | |
| It' s hard to live, knowin that you doin the same | |
| Knowin about you and your game, let God forgive | |
| I won' t see I don' t give a son | |
| I give a buck in gross earning, you eatin the heat in my toast burnin | |
| " You got shot cuz you knocked knocked knocked | |
| Who' s there another mother in hard rock" | |
| " You got shot cuz you knocked knocked knocked | |
| Who' s there another mother" gun shots |
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