Don't Stop (feat. Yukmouth & Spice 1)

First off, we the motherfuckin' Thug Lords

Now, for all you **** bangin' that motherfuckin' West Coast life ****

You know what I'm sayin'? And for sure, no lie

29th street Crip Gang, ****, C-Bo holdin' nothin' back

Yukmouth, Spice 1 and we do it live

For the world, it's still fuck 'em

You know what? And we in that, you know what I'm sayin'?

And this how we handle business, ****

From the early 80's to these 2Gs, boy

Uh, we blaze 'em up with AKs double my clip and we dip

Set trip and get hit, flip Crip or get zipped

Run with the Crips, catch me clumsy in the 6

Six rag invertible slide divertable, murder ya

Dead and gone, never heard of ya

Now we stuffin' lead in the chrome, gonna hurt ya'

Pack ya' down in the earth, we put work in like Mad Dirt

Ordainers twistin' like the revolver or the earth

Fuck church, it's a must, I burst and curse

Yeah, I'm a West Coast Bad Boy

But a thousand times worst

Dime piece, gun in her purse, one in her skirt

Cross me, bet ya' life that my bitch burst

Got me lockin' down the world for the North Pole

Too cold to hold lyrics froze my wrist and my hoes

Number one Thug Lord, fuck with us

I won't lie, the whole world gonna rush with us, tell 'em

Thug Lord **** boss up and don't stop

Thugged out **** boss up and don't stop

Thug Lord **** boss up and don't stop

Thugged out **** boss up and don't stop

Blow! Brr pop pop bang, brr pop pop bang bang

Spice, Yuk, and Bo, we do the damn thing

Blow! Brr pop pop bo, brr pop pop bang bang

Thug Lord ****, we do the damn thing

****, you listenin' to the B-O-S-S-I-L-L-I-N-I

Yukmouth and C-Bo you know they label us born to die

But I pistol slap you and two **** like Three Stooges

Walk over to the bar and sip on gin and juice

It's just the gangster in me, the thug in me

Mug in me and get yo' 'fro pushed back like homie

You 'lil clown ass **** walkin' in Bozo shoes

While my **** out here doin' hits, makin the news

What you think you gon' dodge these bullets like Matrix?

Like a condom, I even lay tech on a bitch

Now, that's some cold shit, a low lick, a cold hit

Leave a **** at a funeral cryin' with no bitch

Some Thug Lord shit, ****, shoot up ya coffin

**** cross game, get murdered by bosses

Costs yo' motherfuckin' life when you play with the rules

They got a **** still singin' the blues

Blow! **** gon' stay and don't stop

Thugged out **** boss up and don't stop

Thugged out **** boss up, they don't stop

Thugged out **** boss up, they don't stop

Brr pop pop pa, brr pop pop bang bang

Thug Lord ****, we do the damn thing

Blow! Brr pop pop bang, brr pop pop bang bang

Spice, Yuk, and Bo, we do the damn thing

Bitch, next up to bat, Yukmouth destroy the earth with rap

Imagine pain worse than that, my **** coppin' birds of crack

Servin' track, cock back and burst the gat

I want my turf back, I hurt that, work that, twerk that

Rolex speed spot like Joe Pesci

AK ready, we deadly, bitch

I'm like Hannibal Lector, eat MC's for breakfast

I'm the hardest artist to sign to a label in Texas

Yes, it's that **** with a platinum grill full of princesses

Invisible set, straight up herbal molescents

In less than 60 seconds, I kill 'em leavin' 'em breathless

Don't fuck with bread, run outta' state bit records

With chin checkers in Benz stretches who win cheddar

When fakers scramble liquid hands on **** with vendettas

I'm like ten Barretta's bustin' off at the same time

Payed rhymes, I kick shit off when it's game time

Blow! blow, blididat, blididat

Blow! blow, blididat, blididat, blididat

Blow! blow, blididat, blididat

Blididat, blididat, brr-at

Brr pop pop pa, brr pop pop bang bang

Thug Lord ****, we do the damn thing

Blow! Brr pop pop bang, brr pop pop bang bang

Spice, Yuk, and Bo, we do the damn thing

I'm hittin' **** so hard with these you would need Jesus

Believe this is yo' last days, I can see yo' cleavage

That's why I'm fuckin' you with the 9 millimeter

And I feed a **** with the heater, he was a long bleeder

And he taste good with fajitas, heat 'em up, now eat

Remember me? **** that be eatin' raw meat

With tiger claw feet so it's easy to creep

You leave me no reason but to leave **** bleedin'

Receive grievance with extra Season of the Sicc

I pick 'em off like Brock Marion

He kept starin' so I took care of him, shot him up with heroin

Like malt liquor, to the liver hitter, to the river wit' ya'

Dip ya' down deep, down deep where the piranha heat they eat they meat

Heat up they seats, they seats with metal from the Southside ghetto

I swear, I'll make y'all motherfuckers yellow

Tired of diggin' ditches like the Goodfellas

Not good with mellow, I keep the meat

Keep it hangin' in the closet like pig feet

Delete, come with the

Blow! brr-at, blow!

Blididat

Blow! Brr-at, ha-ha, blow, blididat, blididat

Blow! Blow! brrr-at, blow, ha-ha-ha

Blow!