T Weaponz - Dem Boys (Remix) (Alternate Version) Lyrics

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(feat. Trae and Shamrock)

[Shamrock (Fingazz in background):]
I think we gotta roll down the window for this one (Yeah, yeah)
Put your seat back and crank that motherfucker up
You heard what the fuck I said, crank that shit!

[Chorus: Ark & Fingazz (Ark) {Fingazz}]
Don't go messin' with them boys (From New York)
Cause you'll probably end up dead on your back {Yeah, yeah}
Don't go messin' with them boys (From the west)
Cause you'll probably hear a click and a clack {Yeah, yeah}
Don't go messin' with them boys (From the south)
Cause you'll probably end up dead on the trap {Yeah, yeah}
Don't go messin' with them boys (Don't go messin' with them boys) {Yeah}
Don't go messin' with them boys

[Verse 1: Shamrock]
Don't go messin' with them boys, you don't know what'll hit ya
I can screw it up like this or spit it quick like a Twista
I could get
Real loud or do the Ying Yang, whisper
Back then
She didn't want me, now I'm twistin' your sister
I'm in your House like Swisha
Slurpin', sippin' your syzzurp
Tippin' on 44's, worse, I'm gettin' exquisite
What's the dizza, my nizza
The lick is sick to my fliffer
A muh'fucker tried to spit, and he'll get shipped off the river
Girls unzip up my zipper
They lick my dick like a sticker
They wanna see the Big Dipper
So I flip it like Flipper
Yo, we gripping them triggers, so now we flipping them figures
I got them black, boys saying "Man, I'm sick of this with ya"


[Verse 2: Ark {Ark slowed down}]
I keep telling 'em, to {slow it down}
{Like Screwed and Chopped}
Trust me, they're be
No one around when you'll get shot
{You won't get found, when you get got}
Keep fucking with them boys, they'll keep bucking with them toys
Got the ones with mute, buttons, you'll hear nothin' but that noise
A few hittin' the floor
These dudes here don't get it at all
My motherfuckers ain't here to snore
My motherfuckers is ready for war
Comin' for your spot
Get rid of you all, cause you really a fraud
The whole damn world is sick of you all
Say that shit, you vanish, boy
Yeah, you missin' the point, when you spittin' soft
Real niggas, put a fist in the air
Everybody else, get a kick in the rear
Cause you spit so thug, but you really a queer
Guess no love, real niggas don't care
Want numbers, here's the math
Got to be real for your shit to add
I done got me a mil for my gift of gab
We about to ride out ya and hit the gas


[Verse 3: Psalmz]
You ain't nothin', punchin' nothin', no pushin', pumpin' or stuntin'
You drunk and bumpin' your gums when you soft as cushion, you frontin'
Go run and jump in assumptions, them Brooklyn boys'll come rushin'
If you in it, to get it, you Kick In The Door
The minute, you in it, you get it and go
Get rid of the spinach, don't sit in the dough
Cause niggas will kill you to get what you gross...

Them boys bringin' New York
City back in like Biggie rappin', with the city busy yappin'
Are they really Latin, what really happened,
we blow it up in on piggy-backin'
So no matter, donde que picen,
all the girls dicen, look they goro Boriquans
We respected from BK to Texas, connected go horn of the precients
Tell 'em the streets rise, I'm comin' in peace but we damned if lettin' any
Beef by ya, so don't you go messin' with them eastsiders,
we Street Fighters


Yeah, yeah
"Fingazz on the track..."
Yeah, yeah

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