Pistols Blazin
Title | Pistols Blazin |
---|---|
Artist | 3X Krazy |
Album | Stackin Chips |
Release Date | 1997-04-08 |
Description | The M.O.B. was a collective of artists that often collaborated together in the 90’s which included Dru Down, the Luniz, 3xKrazy, Cydal, (Young) Swoop G and sometimes lesser known artists Nucklehead and Nic Nac. In addition to “Pistols Blazin”, their collaborations include “The Mobb” from Dru Down’s “Can You Feel Me” album, “Mobb Shit” from Luniz' “Lunitik Muzik”, Tha M.O.B.“ from Swoop G’s "Undisputed”, “Mob Shit” from Swoop G’s “World Don’t Take Me Personally” and “Cydalways” from Cydal’s “Cydalwayz”. |
Lyrics | Intro - Overlapping ad libs *(Numskull & Yuknouth of the Luniz)* Ha, ha, ha Ay, ay, ay Get out my face MOB shit biatch This is the MOB man It's the Lu-Lun-iz 3 Times for li-uh Agerman Bart Keak When a nigga turn up the Hennessy bottles Diggity M.O.B. baby I'm so hurt!! Neezy Fa sheezy Verse 1 *(Bart)* Out for the cash then I hit away Just a thug for the money, no love Hit 'em up wit the blast Put him in a bag and wrap him.... tucked Verse 2 *(T-Luni of Cydal)* You might also likeIt's all business So when the pistol come bouncin' off yo head Don't take it personal Money makin' needs no rehearsin' No nigga'll come wit disrespect and leave wit their head on their shoulders Verse 3 *(Bart)* MOB killaz connected from block to block Re-cock the Glock, reset the dot Heaters bean 'em Repeat from Turf achievers Verse 4 *(T-Luni of Cydal)* We take action first 'cause talk is cheap You gon' believe us Time to floss some heat Cut off the weak You won't deceive us Meta merchandise to murderize Any and all Many will fall Verse 5 *(Bart)* It's just a O.G. call, made from the B When I step up, I'll betcha Mr. Sicka gon' get to creep I gets to blast and laugh Dumped the bodies in the bag I hope I get to last In this game of cash Verse 6 *(T-Luni of Cydal)* It's paraphernalia not paranoid You fuckin' wit a pair of boys That'll pump yo body full of lead And watch it swell like you on some type of steroids Verse 7 *(Bart)* 'Cause it ain't no sprayer like the one I got Claimin' you just a player but the fakers I sock Surround yo' weaved-head Fuckin' wit the weed-head Get left well-behaved I'll bet you'll buy the clip Talkin' all that lip Without my strip You're left with shit Verse 8 *(T-Luni of Cydal)* Head split and ass kicked in, chin shattered Nobody could recognize you when they found ya And they still don't know who downed ya Verse 9 *(Bart)* This shit gets deeper than you think, with a straight face Lay you down and come up off them cavy cakes Slow down better pump yo brakes Don't know my click from a can of paint These niggas won't last When I, buck one in that ass And hit the gate I seen two more can't let 'em escape Chorus *(T-Luni of Cydal)* It ain't no room for no non-ass soldier niggas And it's amazin' how the heat bring out the ho in niggas When pistols blazin It ain't no room for no non-ass soldier niggas And it's amazin' how the heat bring out the ho in niggas When pistols blazin Verse 10 *(Keak da Sneak)* Cashin' it Like France up in Fres' I'm in the Benz Massage under the bitch's mouth, verbally Converse how to get some ends Bill to twen's Nigga I love them bighead Bens Percolin' slurplin' off that gin Hoes at the bus stop wanna get in But they, foot soldiers And I swang in like a Nova Plus them bitches ain't tight To make a right and pull my 600 over Just as I thought, I looked through the corner of my eye That it's them same niggas that bucked at me But it wasn't my time to die I... pull out my thang Hit 'em wit a bang Bury the remains So bitch stay out my business and let the Benzo skirt and swang Yellin' "MOB" clouded with ang' For the nigga I slayed I didn't love yo punk ass And plus I'm tired of the pain Like Cameo this shit is strange A nigga do what he do To get his whole neck and head rearranged MOB members, make niggas think about what they doin' Watch what you pursuin' Fuck around and get yo whole career ruined Chorus *(T-Luni of Cydal)* It ain't no room for no non-ass soldier niggas And it's amazin' how the heat bring out the ho in niggas When pistols blazin Verse 11 *(Yukmouth of the Luniz)* Listen Uh Little boys and girls listen to me It is I that you see Gettin' high niggas be Gettin' by on these streets Do or die on these streets Hit 'em high meet defeat Weight tied across the feet Niggas lie beneath the creek Some try but they don't eat, much food Unless I run wit this fool that picks me up in a Lex, fuck school Let's jet, live and direct The Yay Area, they carry a 4-5 and a Tech When they bury ya they pissin' on the side of yo' grave No witnesses but a buckshot from inside of the gauge And niggas be gettin' pepper sprayed up Handcuffed and made to lay down Circumstances, too skanless Man less, to slang yay now Strapped down My shit be fully greased up Sweep the muthafuckin' streets up Cuz niggas ain't takin' no beat ups They re-up wit the heaters Leaders of the new school But we don't bust a rhyme We bust a nine Muthafuckas find Nines under the bridge in the Pacific tucked MOB material Scratch off the serial number Fuckin' ballistics up Road to the riches Fuck hoes, bitches and sluts Bubblicious Yuk Beaucoup bucks My niggas'll shoot you up Chorus *(T-Luni of Cydal)* It ain't no room for no non-ass soldier niggas And it's amazin' how the heat bring out the ho in niggas When pistols blazin It ain't no room for no non-ass soldier niggas And it's amazin' how the heat bring out the ho in niggas When pistols blazin Verse 12 *(Swoop G)* Now what these niggas tryin' to do? Get gunned down, stomped and pistol whipped? Ooh If not, I suggest you get the fuck up out the West Cause when it comes to gun play, there's no contest I leave you wit two holes, one in yo dome, one in yo chest And Elliot Ness, he wouldn't have made it on the West And yes, I know you muthafuckas heard about us Cause we was all on the news, for MOB-style murders I crack a fool on top of his head, wit a strap Told his bitch to come over here, she sat on my lap Man this MOB shit, ain't never been no joke You headed straight for the pen, or you end up smoked That's why I keep a heater, on my passenger's seat And I'm MOB affiliated Uh, uh, I know you hate it I'd rather be caught, with my heater Then without my heater, it's just a misdemeanor Verse 13 *(Eklipze of Cydal)* I'm crackin' backs like a chiropractor Come see a Cydal factor Get up yo block wit rifle splatters Clips longer than Bibles chapters Too affront to be blastin' And don't know nothin' about lastin' And if he flashin' we gassin' And leavin' his ass in a wagon The last dragon, we're smashin' Imagine missin' in action Oakland assassin for cabbage And disappear like Aladdin And trappin' their ass inside a muthafuckin' cave Niggas that came wit their pistols I got missiles and hand grenades And some troopers wit bazookas ready to shoot you, do you in Crushin' boulders wit soldiers, cook it and make it pure again It's yo friend the Prince of Darkness, whenever the dark hits I feel my heart get to beatin' and you bustas be my target PM it's cold heart Chorus *(T-Luni of Cydal)* It ain't no room for no non-ass soldier niggas And it's amazin' how the heat bring out the ho in niggas When pistols blazin It ain't no room for no non-ass soldier niggas And it's amazin' how the heat bring out the ho in niggas When pistols blazin Verse 14 *(Dru Down)* We use no paranoia, our dedication to our paper is so deep The paraphernalia to the MOB love to creep Our elevation, us racin' uhh to the top Non-stop, wit a cocked back Glock, then hop Into some Continental, nigga skee-skirt You know this, I ran through just to do some dirt I'm puttin' in work, I hit them were it hurt Crack yo spine time Instead of hittin 'em wit the nine I'm... strictly wit this here MOB shit Bitch! Recognize, bettin' a muthafucka do when the steel's Right between your eyes The nigga was dead before he died I slide To the next scene To the next foe I'm speakin' on what I just did at the headquarters And to my MOB soldiers No one can fold us Readin' their weakness like some Black Jack If niggas can't handle it They get stomped from that MOB attack And if you come back from that stompin' Lay low (Get 'em) Hard-headed niggas'll get they head put on fliers Verse 15 *(Agerman)* It's A-G-E once again, pullin' you niggas ho cards Strapped for them niggas that front to their bitches for tryin' to act hard It ain't nothin' but the muthafuckin' MOB in me I went from sellin' coke on the block to doin' robberies To 'luffin' yo ass, stuffin' yo ass up in a trunk punk Caught wit a 3 Times circumstance but nate like T-Funk Too soon for 'em, shoulda had a tomb for 'em Non-ass soldier niggas, there'll be no room for 'em Pistols Blazin |