Brotha Lynch Hung - On My Briefcase Lyrics
(lynch):Now on my briefcase was some crumbled weedA pack of saravegas and a 24 ounce o.e.Might as well skeez these couple of hoesIn my 69 malibu sittin on trues and voguesFor days you might have seen me in my cinnamon cut chrome shoesWith some you cant see me tint on the windows indo syndromeSmokin it up, not givin a mutha*****in fizuckSold the cut, my ex-hoe said that niggas sqautin what?Got at the homie carl, and got some of that bombHad me so *****in high I got off like vietnamDead bodies and *****es clits simmerin in the crock potAnd the shit dont stop until my mutha*****in chronic or high dropIts just that insane type of thang, let the mac rain guts in the drainSiccmade niggas they make the world go roundAnd if you ***** with siccmade music you can get your ass gunned down(phonk beta):I had a homie who stayed up in alaska, used to transfer flights over nebraskaAnd flew me back about a ounce of that alaska indica weedAnd out of the whole zip possessed one seedHad it wrapped real tight all up in cellophaneCant have the k-9 dogs smell it, manIf only you saw what I was seein, the buds was almost pure white, not greenHad to be one of those one hitter quitter dome splittersThats the type a tweed that makes you wanna ***** your baby-sitterI roll a fattie, when I roll this fattieNiggasll be all noid wonderin why they lookin at me*****es have the nerve to say my shit aint bombBut itll have your lungs burnin, like your puffin on napalm(zagg):I wipe that sweat up off my forehead, Im off the cuscheLay back and take a comfortable hit, with a q-tip, its splittin my lipsAnd my dome stays split off toothpicksI hit a lick with a quickness, dumpin dead bodies in ditchesAppreciate the fact, come correct, cuz I could be viciousSuspicion, comin up on recognition Im creepin up from behindWith a 12 gauge, non-fiction, Im all prepared to go for mineSo step in line, a couple of hits, dome split, I be lit on a for real baseWith a machete Ill slice your neck just like them jason casesMurder traces, but I aint pinned cuz theres no evidenceSlight scent of that purple cusche plant, and I can almost sense the essenceWhats the lesson? get tested, dont come if you cant come correctIts that west coast shit for life I dont know what you expectedIm reckless, nevertheless Im a pimp in a bulletproof vestPuttin it down, pound for pound, you need to take a step down50 caliber rounds, Im runnin through your whole townBuckin em down like doom set on deathmatch with the bfg-9000 cartoon
