| Lyrics: | Bizzy Bone – Thugz Cry
Bizzy:
. . . when the thugs cry
This is what it
sounds like [this is what it sounds like, this is what
it sounds like . . .] . . .
. . .
when the thugs cry [when the thugs cry, when the thugs cry].
Bizzy:
Nigga, we
represent the planet. Get schizophrenic and panic. Maybe
their parents would understand if
they get off they ass.
And man, how do you manage? Paranoid, don't even trust my boys.
Watch
for them plots and the ploys, and boys scopin'
like a dope fiend, when I'm smoked in
these alleys with these ghetto
guns and erased muthafuckin' Watts niggas in Cali
take
bullets to the brains, still rowdy. Jesus really never died--you
crucified Him to a
suicide. Who am I? Loco with vocals, goin'
coast to coast. Heaven'll move me, right, for
sure. Deception within
my brethren, but sunny days when I parlay. Get killed
when I get
to steppin'. Remember the weapon (come) and the doctor said
I need time to myself where ocean
flows, Rip in
this, thug for the Bone, up puttin' this independent stardom.
Seven
relentless evil intentions, nobody knows 'em, Im even a
hitman. Where will you go?
We never did mention about my lady
rebel. And we can get this choke on. And we can
get
this choke on. And we can get this choke on. And we can get this
smoke on, when the
thugs cry.
This is what it sounds like (this is what it sounds like,)
. . when the
thugs cry
[when the thugs cry, when the thugs cry].
[Are you ready,
ready?]
Bizzy:
We keepin' the lights on at Ruthless and I ain't fuckin' the
boss,
lookin' at me sexy. Take your clothes off, and my dick'll go
soft. Never mix
business with your sickness. Enemy see me trippin'
at the picnic with your little divide and
conquer, but my
sister was ready to bomb her. Get off the diznick and up off my
boys. Me
and my boys, give us a choice. How could you
ever tell Sony that I was the only one was makin'
noise? Ain't it a
breech of trust? Look in the gutter. Ha! Never judge your
book by
the cover. Word to the muthafucka! Huh, I didn't studder.
But what if I lost and I came in
the office, and nobody
noticed went in with explosives on top of Versace clothes. Give up
the
ghost. Krayzie's Picasso. Little Layzie's like Caesar.
Stack's like Joe Pesci in
Casino, and Wish don't give a fuck, ho. I'm
Gambino. And the walking dead woke up on the
wrong
side of the bed. Bible of survival, triple six rivals [triple six
rivals,
rivals]--none of you said, but I roll with killas, niggas
that'll bust a nigga. We don't feel
strapped in the bed, kickin' up the
camp on the realest, the realest, the
realest.
This is what it sounds like
(this is what it sounds like).
[Yeah,
yeah, yeah . . . ]
. . . when the thugs cry
[when the thugs cry, when the thugs
cry].
[Are you ready, ready, ready?] Oh no!
Bizzy:
Here to make your body
shake, when it's too late, soon as you flipped
off the safety. Baby, this be all day, don't
tell me you
crazy. Would they tell me? Hell, naw. But the reason there's
weepin', we
off with a demon, so cheap. And at least she
peekin', so peep deep down in your pockets.
Don't sleep, runnin' with
my crucifix, Lucifer usually uses it to rule all these
wicked
tricks in the school of these ghetto games. And the fool, this
bitch is missin'. Shame,
shame, shame. Enemies attackin'
me. Actually I'm in the grave, ask Mr. Majesty.
These
casualties--well, they passin' me by, but I hear death callin', when
it's
so
cold in a room, who's stallin'? Better come after me, and we say,
"Fuck ya'll." Haul into
battle [we battle, battle |
