"Don't Turn Around" as written by and Jordan Houston Paul Beauregard....
I only fuck wit those, who only fuck wit me

A sucka' play for games, a man play for keeps

I keeps me a nine millimeter just in case

A coward's in my face

These bullets he gon taste

A waste of your life, steppin' wrong, I'm on trees

Best ta leave me alone, best ta go make some cheese

Enemies come in all shapes, forms, sizes, colors

Could be your best friend, cousin, or brothers

I'll rob'em all, just to see who got the fatty stack

Walked in the bank, put the loot in the codauh sack

Slapped on the guard four times fo' he passed out

Eyes on that blow and my pockets was assed out

Had on a trench coat, wig and some goggles

If'n you resist, you may not see tomorrow

I'm in there, I den dared the police couldn't get me

But I made a slip up: had a trick wit me.

Chorus X2:

Don't turn around (Give me the fuckin' cheese trick)

Don't make a sound (Show me where them keys at)

Lay it on the ground (knowing that your pockets fat)

Fore' I buck you down (and I'm quicks' to do that)

Nigga starting braggin' in his hood bout the robbery

Wasn't long then, fore' somebody dropped the dime on me

I'm'a be the one they can't get to, they picked the boy up

Run his mouth just like a fool, he gon' get me fucked up

But, I'm'a have to get to him before the police do-a

Caught up with him night and day, not him and his crew-a

Sprang down Chelsie Ave. kinda in the evening

For this muhfuckas death, dawg I was fiend'n

He was looking at me strange, like I'm'a catcha

I done hopped out with the thang, lemme holla at'cha,

Foo, where you been dog? (My momma got sick, main!)

Fuck that got to do wit'chu? (Hold up I ain't your bitch, main!)

I heard you been talking your muh-fuckin' lips loose (Nah, it ain't like that dawg, I ain't no damn fool)

Looking in his eyes, I could see that he was so scared

I squeezed on the trigga with the gun to his fo'-head.

(Chorus x2)

Blew the top out his skull, now they want me dead

All the niggas in his hood, police and the feds

Stepped out of Westwood, way out of the side

On the other side of town, somewhere I can hide

I done threw my life away, hunted by them by pigs

Robbing every other day, drops in off my nig

They done found my whereabouts, bouts' to do me in

Kickin' in the front door, and I was in the den

SK was under the couch, snatch it off the wham

Open fire on them hoes, I didn't give a damn

Blood stream was full of dope, pump off coca leaf

Feds had me under a scope, and an infrared beam

Rifle bullet threw my throat, chokin', hit tha flo'

Gunpowder in my mouth, knockin' heavens door

Street life done took me out, and that shit ain't fake

I done fuck myself off, cause a bad mistake

Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"Don't Turn Around [*]" as written by Patrick Houston Jordan Houston


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