Letra de F.I.C.O. - Clipse

(Feat. Stove God Cooks)

I remember late nights, pissy hallways

Driving me psycho

The money wouldn't come fast enough

We was back and forth, down streamline

Moving weight was like lipo

The rest of y'all stuck in a rut

Niggas double crossing, talk behind ya back

See, that's where the knife go

I guess they wasn't fuckin' wit' us

Some niggas get the luck of the draw

For others, life is a dice roll

And waiting on faith ain't for us

When you young, you realize that you can't trust a mouth where the pipe go

They tried but couldn't love you enough

Dance music on my neck

Where's your water bottle?

Diamonds, the light show

Looking like the sun in the club

If you re-ing up with us then your credit score gotta be

F.I.C.O. I'm talkin' 850 or bust

See you really real power when you make niggas balance on tight ropes

They know they not much for the blood

Have my man shoot ya block

I'ma send his ass far as the flight go

Ain't worried 'bout ducking a judge

Keep frontin' for ya bitches

Cause any minute repo might show

You know that shit up in a month

Heard your man was in there singing for his life

They was calling him maestro

Cause time that heavy can crush

When you pay a nigga back, like it's layaway, whispering "die slow"

The last words you hear in the trunk

You don't know what I know

You ain't seen what I saw, no

You ain't been where I go

Wit' a fetti so strong you gotta bag it wit' one eye closed

My shooter turn you inside out

I heard the Feds turned the crib inside out

Drop the roof on you niggas, let the inside out

Fresh Prince jacket, boy, I cook 'em till they inside out

Go get a Glock, 27 fits snug in the waistline

Both sticks came with the drum

I was 5'6", shoulder with a chip

Wish a nigga to take mine

Index yanked till it's numb

Used to call me Windex 'cause this thing I spray gon' make you change minds

I done seen Hercules run

We was powerlifting 2.2's

Nah, we ain't throw gang signs

My brick walk was second to none

I would have them take a number like DMV

That was the baseline

Checkout on register one

Miami niggas like Big Perm 'cause they numbers was Faizon

Cubans showed me nothing but love

When it come down to it, every Stringer Bell just needs an Avon

Who won't sweep it under the rug

On the road, with a load, nigga, break line

I knew where to place mine

I don't keep the gun in the glove

Hit the turnpike with the running lights that be on in the daytime

Cause K9's sniff out a crumb

Hands 3 and 9 on the wheel as I'm crossing the state line

Dumb, ditty, dumb, ditty, dumb

Survival of the fittest

You either get acquitted or face time

I done had an infamous run

My story gon' hit the first 48

Then it's on Dateline 'cause this really shit I'd done

You don't know what I know

You ain't seen what I saw, no

You ain't been where I go

Wit' a fetti so strong you gotta bag it wit' one eye closed

My shooter turn you inside out

I heard the Feds turned the crib inside out

Drop the roof on you niggas, let the inside out

Fresh Prince jacket, boy, I cook 'em till they inside out

¿Te encanta la letra de F.I.C.O.? ¡Compártela con tus amigos!