Yo nephew, give me some of that No Limit shit
We got my nigga Fiend in the house
C-Murder in this motherfucker
Mystikal all up in this bitch
Goldie Loc,
My nephew Silkk the Shocker
Oh yeah, we got something for the ladies too
Mia X, run this bitch

Lyrical arsonist, lady alligator
Down South, hustler, former weight smuggler
I'm Mother, of the Tank, gave birth to an army
Guerrilla millionaires, so don't even ask, if you wanna
Get to clapping, soldier action specialty of style
We made the whole world respect the underground while
Some of y'all niggas talk shit and get mad
Cause we did it with a foot up your ass, and it's still there
I cares not about your click or the block
I'm still that same bitch to run up in your spot and knock you off
Broad, with the cause (yeah) bitch on a mission
Keep them niggas by they nuts while you hoes be dick kissin
Missing the game, damn bitch it's written in plain ebonics
So shake that come-up off you brain and do the knowledge
Mia X, kicking off the ghetto symphony
Next soldier up, tell em who the FUCK you be

What? It's Fiend y'all
Put me in the ring with real MC's, and watch em run for cover
And hiding in trees, to escape the mic that I breathe on
Bleed on, exceed on!
Weak rappers with titles after twelve
Hit a bell that's what I'll feed on!
Microphone Don, walking flesh, talking bomb
Bringing harm, to the calm, and, them be alarmed
It's the African, oh, you wanna battle again?
I'll turn, you and your mans, to my yesterday plans
Oh damn, toting two pistols like Yosemite Sam
Old man be grand, loud as the Southern band
Pickups and caravans, the soldier, that could, that can
I would be the man, but God beat me to them plans

Next up, on the M-I-C
C-Murder, get busy for the symphony

I be's that nigga on the tank, always tripping never slipping
Have you reminiscing and missing, that fool in your picture
Call me Bossalinie bitch without the Mo's at shows
And fuck dose who oppose (why?) we running them hoes
Three-hundred and sixty-five motherfucking days a year
I have your fool staggering just like a bottle of beer
You niggaz running from the cops, well I ain't running no mo'
I flip the bird when I swerve, man, FUCK them hoes
I'm crazy my nagga, but uh, I thought y'all knew that, shit
Oh you ain't see the news? Shit I'm the nigga with the true tat
Ask my nigga Keno, shit, I just don't give a fuck
And if you run up wrong, I'ma fuck you up, you bitch you

Next up, on the M-I-C
Silkk the Shocker get busy on the symphony

Now would I COME THIS FAR FUCKER? If I didn't sound like a hit
Y'all didn't know what the fuck y'all thinking bout
You sound like a bitch (bitch!)
Shit it sound like a wish, you know when you got a motherfucking hit,
Bitch?? When it sound like this!
Or you fake niggas get enough heart, and try to bust a
Rhyme at this click
Fuck around and miss, then fuck around and get
Found in a ditch
Gotta labels give me dough, when they find I can, gross this much
Freestyle shit, you can tell em I ain't, wrote this stuff
Silkk the Shocker, KLC perv and mash like, Snoop and Dre nigga
Y'all can relate to what it takes to get a contract like, MJ nigga
It ain't where you from; it's where the, fuck you at
N-O-L-I-M-I-T, Top Dogg, and I'm fucking with that

Next up, on the M-I-C
Mystikal get busy on the symphony

Who shit motherfucker god damn!
I keep it hype, bitch I'm the man!
When the FUCK you ever heard somebody say that they don't say my song
Or that I don't roll on every fuckin verse I'm rapping on
(That nigga Mystikal tighter than a motherfucker)
I came up off of _Peter Piper_ bells and the LL's _Bad_
Nee nigga to be pissed off with me
Cause their old lady they call me their baby
MC's piling up and crowding up, but I'm their FAVORITE
The type to fly buyin a Z-28 IROC
And chop you in your motherfucking face
Your album ain't tight, what in the fuck is you pushing?
You played out just like old woman pussy

Next up, on the M-I-C
Goldie Loc, get busy on the symphony

Now watch me put these haters to the test, accumulating with my stress
Fold em fuck em fifty, get the shit up off my chest

Releasing anger, all natural gangsta energy
Goldie Loc the name, Dogg House game
Motherfuckers better start backing up (what up what up)
We in the Tank punk busters, motherfuckers don't wanna see us loc'd up
Little Goldie Loc, Goldie Locks the same thing
Smashin for the hood, cause I wanted to gang-bang

Last up, I believe that's me
Snoop Dogg, light up the mic for the symphony

This jam is dedicated to all non-optimistics
That thought I wasn't coming, out with some exquisite, rhymes
But that's OK, cause now I'm back
To kill all the rumors, and straighten the facts
Like umm, doing bad, getting ganked for my bank
Now you all on my dick when you see I'm true Tank Dogg
You say, "Mmmm mmm mmm! Ain't that something
Dogg I bought yo' album, my nigga, that shit is bumping
I apologize, I'm sorry for the drama
Can I get your autograph for my baby momma?"
Shit I'm setting it off, letting it off, busting
Hustling, rushing, dusting motherfuckers
Dropping the heat, lock up the street, we 'posed to
I put this pistol in your mouth, now what you gon' do?
Top of the line, first class
I pop a cap in yo' ass, then pop some more in the glass
Too legit to quit, I'm spitting gangsta shit
Man fuck all that yapping, we bout that gun clapping

No Limit, yeah, that's what's happening
Fuck all that yapping, we bout that gun clapping
In the real world, talk is cheap
Actions speak louder than words
No Limit Records, here to protect and serve

Lyrics submitted by oofus

Ghetto Symphony Lyrics as written by Alvertis Isbell Cordozar Calvin Broadus

Lyrics © Ultra Tunes, Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Lyrics powered by LyricFind

Ghetto Symphony song meanings
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