| Lyrics: | 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
the past would understand if they get off they ass and mash.
How do you manage?
Paranoid, don't even trust my boys. Watch
for them plots and deploys, envoys, scopin
like a
dope fiend, when I'm smoked in the alleys with these ghetto
guns and erased my funds Watts
niggas in Cali take
bullets to the brains, still rowdy. Jesus really never
died--you
crucified mutual suicide. Who am I? Loco with vocals, goin'
coast to coast.
Heaven'll move me, right, for sure. Deception whether
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 those frivilous
thoughts, thug for the Bone, up
puttin' this independent stardom. Seven
relentless evil intentions, nobody knows 'em, Im even a
henchman, warrior,
poet, never to mention i love my lady rebel?
And we can get the stroke
on. And we can get
the stroke on. And we can get the stroke on. And we can get
this
stroke 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 flippin'
in the picnic with your little divide and
conquer, but my-acapo |
