Flippin, Ex-hoe trippin.
Got the new kicks from the boy Scotty Pippen.
Still (?) livin', skin off the chicken.
And you hoes already know what im sippin'
Still a big dipper, Still a straight killer,
Still unloading off the 18 wheeler.
Nobody better, never ever ever,
Glass on my 'lac like the girl Cinderella.
Hand on my 'retta, surf on the netta,
Lookin for a shredda in a Polo sweater.
Beef gets settled, straight from the ghetto.
Say your comin back homeboy? Aqui te espero.
Hillwood, Texas.. not many Mexicans.
'Cept the one that got the two 600 engines.
Dont ask questions, dont give answers.
Sitting at the bar cause im not a good dancer.
its the day after, pray for me pastor..
Mix a lil purple with the strawberry shasta.
Or the cream soda, Roarin in a cobra.
Muthafuckin thug born the 5th of october.
Servin that coca, Its the vida loca.
Catch her at the club I'ma slap her then choke her.
Still about a ?, bought it and i shot it.
Call it what you call it, more brown bags than Sonic.
Then Im abra-cadabra, struggler not a straggler.
Bubbler not a babbler, hustler not a hassler,
never been a bachelor, always been married.
To these fuckin streets, staying loyal til I'm buried.
and Ima swang, Ima swerve. I think im seeing blurred,
With my boy serg in the truck watching Spurs.
With my persian princess on 22 inches.
When i sleep she say that my trigger finger twitches.
Im superstitious, and i believe in ghosts.
So many hoes wanna be with the 'Los.
Im tweakin on this muthafuckin weed that i smoke.
Goin 95 on my muthafuckin boat!
Ridin them waves, chokin? up my trays.
Lobo call me up talking bout he want a raise.
Crime sure pays, dont do braids.
Keep a low cut like the boy Norman Bates.
Rattles and it shakes, jumps and it brakes.
White candy paint look like the pearly gates.
Sellin my tapes in 50 different states.
Fuck the radio cause you muthafuckas hate.
But its all good, im from a small hood.
Tie his bitch ass up and bring him back to Hillwood.
In my levis sagged down to my Lugz.
With a t-shirt that says "Weed Is Not Drugs"
Be one of us, live in a rush.
Just put diamonds on my baby's hairbrush.
I fucks with the plus and not the minus,
and I might just let my black nine bust
and it goes like...

Uh. Yall aint ready for this. Uh uh.
yall aint ready for this. Uh.
yall aint ready for this, come on.
you no ready for this.


I tighten up the laces on my brand new Stacy's
Hug and kiss my babies then call up my crazies.
Tryina make it thru another day no easy.
Muthafuckas hate cause im on Top like ZZ.
Young niggas think we out here playing fuckin games.
Til one niggas looking in the other niggas brains.
Laughed and he giggles 'bout the words that i riddled.
Now he's stiff in a coffin locked hard and dick shriveled.
Hoppin along in my 54 bomb.
Yes i hate pigs like the boys of Islam.
Gone in the wind, not long til the end.
No more talk with my glock in the palm on my hand.
Alazay at the Mandalay.
Got a call and shot two, the rest ran away.
Thats how the shit get done in the deep South.
Im in Vegas watching Vargas knock a bitch out.
Ice glisten, ballatician hold it down and dirty
Peace to all my fuckin raza up in Albuquerque.
Signed a bonus with the union now my house is roomy
Niggas wanna do me but you bitches nothing to me.
Understand my killas love making haters bloody,
Acting nutty but he's softer than silly putty.
Hang him by a rope and gut him like you do a goat.
And on his neck, write this on a fuckin note:
Bitch pissin in the wind what began has begun
Blast my heat once sweep em up and we done
I'm one in a katrillion, muthafuckin million
Laying in my bed getting head from a Brazilian
Momma still bitchin, gangsta still listen
I'm blowing weed with them boys from New Edition.
Man I'm ballin, never ever fallin',
Skip to my lou my muthafuckin darling and it goes like...

uh yall aint ready for this.
uh uh yall aint ready for this.
you aint ready for this.
uh you aint ready for this.


So if you see em see em, go head tell em tell em
Only music is my dope and i sell em sell em,
Or i slang em slang em,
It don't matter what you call it.
My shit so hot up in the hood you better record it
Now some of yall niggas think my heart is so warm..
Cold motherfucker me, you don't want none motherfucker
Have your whole crew ducka-ducka
It happens when I pull out my nine milla blucka.
Nigga watcha, be careful cause my blood gets hotter
chunk that bullet out my gun non-stoppa
Remember when I used to be a mic-wrecker
but by the grace of Yahweh i come to be the mic checker
Now its betta, now that I'm making that cheddar
My belly stay full and my throat was never wetta
Ay Rebecca, meet me at the back stage later
Cause when i go down there we're gonna go down to Jamaica.


Lyrics submitted by Rickynator52

Lobo Wanna Raise song meanings
Add your thoughts

No Comments

sort form View by:
  • No Comments

Add your thoughts

Log in now to tell us what you think this song means.

Don’t have an account? Create an account with SongMeanings to post comments, submit lyrics, and more. It’s super easy, we promise!

Back to top
explain