(Brotha Lynch Hung)
|
creeping in the dark with a nine and a four O
|
5 O 12 O clock so I creep slow duece fo
|
homies know I just cant claim so I stay neutral
|
pack me some ammo and a fothamukin fo fo
|
cant pack a piece too often
|
end up having another suckas guts hanging off
|
and a 187 R.A.P. A.S.A.P.
|
reeping off the fits doing time in the penitentary
|
and as I creep I peep mista locsta with the gun outta his holsta
|
thinking he supposed to point it at me
|
but now everybody loves a cop killa
|
just as bout' as much as a young capila
|
so what I did is grabe my nine but before I put the clip in
|
all I heard is pop pop pop what Im tripping
|
my body's licking blood I cant call it
|
one time murdering a young alcoholic
|
Im on the ground with a 40 spilled on my chest
|
bullet holes and it supposed to work bullet proof vest
|
caught slipping my niggaro's
|
you can burn that hearse cuz Ima walk to my funeral
|
|
(Mia Bruce)
|
can you feel
|
can you feel it
|
you know what you got to do
|
can you feel
|
why dont you take
|
you know what you got to do
|
can you feel
|
why dont you take
|
can you feel
|
|
(T.M. Shades)
|
I cant believe that I got shot I thought I ducked
|
I was just rolling my dice pressing my luck
|
kicking it with them fellas drinking 40's on the block
|
talking about what my dice will do when they drop
|
then all of the sudden dam I think saw a gun
|
after I heard the bam that made everybody run
|
Im trying to run but I aint cuz Im falling
|
my body's getting numb
|
I hear my mother calling
|
my heart stops but it dont feel like Im dead
|
and i here bullets buring cells in my head and now Im seeing black puzzled and surprised
|
my worst start nightmare was now realitized
|
and I didnt even get me a chance to say good bye to my mommy
|
ambulance covering my body
|
put me in the truck closed the door stuck a tag on my toe
|
and put me in a drawer case closed
|
another inocent victim victimized
|
in the wrong place at the wrong time
|
my story was wrote the book read now I might be laying here dead
|
but Ima walk to my funeral
|
|
(Mia Bruce)
|
can you feel
|
I want to know why dont you just listen to me
|
why dont you listen to me
|
can you feel
|
|
(Brotha Lynch Hung)
|
10 O clock at the set Lynch crept
|
some nigga rolled up in a mob wanted a cigarette
|
nuttining now Im smoking on some indo
|
and on that note he stuck a gage out the window
|
break yourself for that dank and your cash
|
foo try to take my grip and then mash
|
Im like what, heh
|
Im not going out foo I bust out my ol school and swing my things real cool
|
so what up
|
Im not tripping off your gage what up
|
aint even packing you the brotha with the gage at my gut
|
so bust he start loading me full of them shells
|
there wasnt no way I was dropping Im bloody as hell
|
6 holes in my body and Im trying to walk
|
grave yard straight called me Im living off a nerve shock
|
and on my tombstone 1996
|
and I got but Im gonna strike to my funeral
|
|
yeah in the mothafucking house my nigga Shades you know
|
|
(Mia Bruce)
|
can you feel me
|
|
thanks for acompaning me ont this mothafucka ya know
|
|
(Mia Bruce)
|
can you feel me
|
|
we gonna do some damage ya know in the 96 ya know
|
|
(Mia Bruce)
|
can you feel
|
can you feel me
|
can you feel me
|
|
-----------------
|
Walkin' 2 My Funeral
|
Brotha Lynch Hung |