Lyrics to Down '71 (Original Version)
It's fuckin' late and I'm tired... works prolly slackin, so be that anyone notice a flaw(s) feel free to let me know. Btw: Kray's voice when he enters is I'll beyond words; check it.
[Flesh:]
Down '71, to get away me gots to run-run. (Kick it.) [x3]
[Bizzy:]
Hit, get 'em up: nigga's on the run, runnin' side by side with' #1. When drop me gauge, and when the po-po chase and they catch me barehanded, I'm done. Rip's grippin' the six-shot pump, so spill it. Gotta let a me lead off. Copper thought that he had me caught: Little Layzie blew his head off. Get 'em on the get up. The bullets-they start to get lit up. #1 best at duckin', with' the gun already buckin'. We split up. Bust a left on the double-glock and, the fiends roll up for rocks, and is, this perfect getaway from the pigs when I peel, and I hit the fences. Rippin' up me trench and, I'm bailin' while they trailin'. Better in hell than in a cell, and ain't no tellin' where them coppers dwellin'. One he spotted me, picked up them piece and shot at me, but I practice what I preach: proceeded them slugs up in his body. Got him! Run with' smoke comin' from the barrel of me gun. Hit the bend. Oh, what a dumb-dumb, I got yum-yummed on the dead end. They set in, and lead in. They wanted me off in a coffin. Cops from everywhere was yellin' and wailin'. I went unconscious from the stompin'. Takin' a loss, and wakin' up in that coffin. And without no stallin', cell I was tossed in to be arraigned at dawn and, me lookin' in the eyes of a judge. He had already bit the thug-straight to the cell with no parole in the hole, where I won't budge. Sent me to death row, watchin' the time by fly past, but Rip'll be sittin' mindless, never spineless, in silence, hopin' I die fast, but chill. Neva did sleepa. Gotta get away, put that on a me reefer. Somehow must beat ya, so peep out the creep or the reaper will meet ya.
[Layzie:]
Back on the mission, flipped the script, better check what the wind just blew in. Think again. It's a preacher with' a grin on a mission for revenge with' a MAC-10, and Rip had to empty out the clip, had to pump them slugs up in to them cops, made 'em drop. Gat went pop-pop! Goin' out with my soldier on the double-glock, back from Hell; ready to bail, time to hit the trail, 'cause they wanted my nigga fried. Holdin' the Bible with' the grenade on the inside. The squad, gettin' ready for the rumble, heard them mumbles, pull me gun and laughter. 12-guage eruptions; all that mattered when them busta's scattered. Reachin' for them pistols, but them can't fade me gauge. Now me bucked them straight to them pave, and me bucked 'em straight to them grave: Can't be saved. I'm buckin', my nigga reinforcements comin' fast. Gave Rip the MAC-10, so we let them gun-gun blast on they ass. We rippin' chests' through vests, MAC-10's and sawed-off eruptions. Ammunition, no missin', listen, destruction. I'm bustin'. Gotta makin' that getaway, gotta getaway, we got's to escape. Neva too late to make or break; don't never test the Bone fate. We steadily runnin', steadily runnin'. That's the do' barracaded; pulled the grenade. Tossed to the do', let it explode and we made it. Out to the courtyard, saw Krayzie, feelin' saftety comin'. Hit the fence and jumped it, from my nigga's pistol's bullets is on it.
[Krayzie:]
Sit as I wait in the smug. Roll up real fast like a dog, and began with' a guage, and the rage can't let go. They done labeled my nigga psychotic; bitches has got him sittin' on death row. Scopin' out the tower, peepin' the scene so when my niggas trail, screamin' out, "one-eighty-seven, " and bail. Gotta get my nigga Rip out that cell. It's all organized, how my nigga #1 disguised as the preacher. We'll be pullin' a bible mission foe survival, nigga so creep the TEC-millimeter. Somebody done pulled the alarm. Now, it's on. Slaughterin', Bone sprayed off the TEC, gotta let him know which way was home. We got gone, but them ho-lice was pullin' up quick. Nigga, what's up? Rip was in first. When he hit that fence, niggas get cut the fuck up. We're steady buckin', steady duckin', buckin', while I was jumpin'. All we was thinkin' is, "Don't get caught." Nigga like me hit the ground runnin', gunnin', frontin' with thugs. Gotta get to the smug, turn around and we pump slugs, put 'em in the mud[gunshots], and all across my face was, "I'd rather lay in blood." After them who? Made them come play with' the swoop, bailin' back home with' my troops. I'm runnin' with' four crazy niggas that's down with' they niggas and ain't scared to shoot. Now we're rollin', no more than a half a mile we get stopped. Cops surround Bone. We load glocks, as we say "fuck these roadblocks" Though, if you a thuggish ruggish thug nigga scream "Mo'! ". Took one'a my nigga's off death row; we got one mo' to go.
[Flesh:]
Down '71, to get away me gots to run-run. (Kick it.) [x3]
Down '71 (Original Version) Video:
[Flesh:]
Down '71, to get away me gots to run-run. (Kick it.) [x3]
[Bizzy:]
Hit, get 'em up: nigga's on the run, runnin' side by side with' #1. When drop me gauge, and when the po-po chase and they catch me barehanded, I'm done. Rip's grippin' the six-shot pump, so spill it. Gotta let a me lead off. Copper thought that he had me caught: Little Layzie blew his head off. Get 'em on the get up. The bullets-they start to get lit up. #1 best at duckin', with' the gun already buckin'. We split up. Bust a left on the double-glock and, the fiends roll up for rocks, and is, this perfect getaway from the pigs when I peel, and I hit the fences. Rippin' up me trench and, I'm bailin' while they trailin'. Better in hell than in a cell, and ain't no tellin' where them coppers dwellin'. One he spotted me, picked up them piece and shot at me, but I practice what I preach: proceeded them slugs up in his body. Got him! Run with' smoke comin' from the barrel of me gun. Hit the bend. Oh, what a dumb-dumb, I got yum-yummed on the dead end. They set in, and lead in. They wanted me off in a coffin. Cops from everywhere was yellin' and wailin'. I went unconscious from the stompin'. Takin' a loss, and wakin' up in that coffin. And without no stallin', cell I was tossed in to be arraigned at dawn and, me lookin' in the eyes of a judge. He had already bit the thug-straight to the cell with no parole in the hole, where I won't budge. Sent me to death row, watchin' the time by fly past, but Rip'll be sittin' mindless, never spineless, in silence, hopin' I die fast, but chill. Neva did sleepa. Gotta get away, put that on a me reefer. Somehow must beat ya, so peep out the creep or the reaper will meet ya.
[Layzie:]
Back on the mission, flipped the script, better check what the wind just blew in. Think again. It's a preacher with' a grin on a mission for revenge with' a MAC-10, and Rip had to empty out the clip, had to pump them slugs up in to them cops, made 'em drop. Gat went pop-pop! Goin' out with my soldier on the double-glock, back from Hell; ready to bail, time to hit the trail, 'cause they wanted my nigga fried. Holdin' the Bible with' the grenade on the inside. The squad, gettin' ready for the rumble, heard them mumbles, pull me gun and laughter. 12-guage eruptions; all that mattered when them busta's scattered. Reachin' for them pistols, but them can't fade me gauge. Now me bucked them straight to them pave, and me bucked 'em straight to them grave: Can't be saved. I'm buckin', my nigga reinforcements comin' fast. Gave Rip the MAC-10, so we let them gun-gun blast on they ass. We rippin' chests' through vests, MAC-10's and sawed-off eruptions. Ammunition, no missin', listen, destruction. I'm bustin'. Gotta makin' that getaway, gotta getaway, we got's to escape. Neva too late to make or break; don't never test the Bone fate. We steadily runnin', steadily runnin'. That's the do' barracaded; pulled the grenade. Tossed to the do', let it explode and we made it. Out to the courtyard, saw Krayzie, feelin' saftety comin'. Hit the fence and jumped it, from my nigga's pistol's bullets is on it.
[Krayzie:]
Sit as I wait in the smug. Roll up real fast like a dog, and began with' a guage, and the rage can't let go. They done labeled my nigga psychotic; bitches has got him sittin' on death row. Scopin' out the tower, peepin' the scene so when my niggas trail, screamin' out, "one-eighty-seven, " and bail. Gotta get my nigga Rip out that cell. It's all organized, how my nigga #1 disguised as the preacher. We'll be pullin' a bible mission foe survival, nigga so creep the TEC-millimeter. Somebody done pulled the alarm. Now, it's on. Slaughterin', Bone sprayed off the TEC, gotta let him know which way was home. We got gone, but them ho-lice was pullin' up quick. Nigga, what's up? Rip was in first. When he hit that fence, niggas get cut the fuck up. We're steady buckin', steady duckin', buckin', while I was jumpin'. All we was thinkin' is, "Don't get caught." Nigga like me hit the ground runnin', gunnin', frontin' with thugs. Gotta get to the smug, turn around and we pump slugs, put 'em in the mud[gunshots], and all across my face was, "I'd rather lay in blood." After them who? Made them come play with' the swoop, bailin' back home with' my troops. I'm runnin' with' four crazy niggas that's down with' they niggas and ain't scared to shoot. Now we're rollin', no more than a half a mile we get stopped. Cops surround Bone. We load glocks, as we say "fuck these roadblocks" Though, if you a thuggish ruggish thug nigga scream "Mo'! ". Took one'a my nigga's off death row; we got one mo' to go.
[Flesh:]
Down '71, to get away me gots to run-run. (Kick it.) [x3]
Songwriters: COR, PETER/TAYLOR, BELOYD /
Publisher: Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group
Powered by LyricFind
Publisher: Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group
Powered by LyricFind
