paroles de chanson Mismatch - Roney

Uh (Steve Kroeger on the beat) no slime gang
We the live gang
It′s Rondawg
Yeah, let's get it man

Was on parole, had to wait ′til my day come (was on parole)
Nine to five, put in work no paystub (put in work?)
He wanted beef but the sauce, man, it's A1 (it's A1)
Run for his burner then shoot him wit′ the same gun
No slime gang (gang) we the live gang (gang)
Swing by like Tarzan (Tarzan)
We put a nine in (in)
Money piling (money piling)
Make me look like a giant (giant)
Uh, and I heard he want me dead
We coming with an army, we ain′t coming with the feds (with an army)
Whipped crack in the basement to pay the rent (to pay the rent)
Got niggas who ain't make it, they in the pen

We gon′ whip fast
This the type of dope to give him whiplash (whip)
Came up off the stove with a big bag (big bag)
You the type of nigga to call dispatch
We don't fist fight, that′s a mismatch

And I heard he on the dope again (again)
He cope with meds, type to go tell on his colder friends (he a rat)
Don't tell me no lies (no)
You weren′t in the kitchen, you were selling no pies (you wasn't selling)
He went to class like a regular guy (a regular)
I did math with the four and the five (the forty fifth)
I pay a shooter, get that nigga for the low (bah)
I ain't talking birds when I′m shooting at his cro (get him)

Who′s telling me somethin'? (Who?)
And that coke like flour, watch me whip up a dumpling (and watch me whip)
We gon′ make him cry like he peeling an onion (cry)
Send him to the sky, we didn't settle for nothing

We gon′ whip fast
This the type of dope to give him whiplash (yuh)
Came up off the stove with a big bag (uh, uh)
You the type of nigga to call dispatch (let's get it)
We don′t fist fight, that's a mismatch

Hundreds in the safe (safe)
Touch your bullets, jumping like a bunny in a race (in a race)
Please don't let me smoke you, smoke you (smoke you)
I got killers all around turn you tofu (nigga what?)
Sicko did the race (race)
′Til he got shot, now he′s locked in the cage (free the dogs)
All my niggas in jail
I feel it for 'em ′cause I didn't know they going through hell (they going through it)

They used to hate spitting bars, bar-to-bars in the cell (I hate it)
And my celly was a demon, he a product of hell
C.O′s hear a scream, no one coming for help (nah)
Ain't shower in two weeks they′re enjoying the smell (they love it)
I get flashbacks
When I locked down, had to pack packs (packs)
Now I'm getting money and them fat racks
And I don't want to sell dope again (nah)
To buy a Benz, I feel sorry for my olderheads (ha-ha)

We gon′ whip fast
This the type of dope to give him whiplash (whip, whip)
Came up off the stove with a big bag (yuh)
You the type of nigga to call dispatch (yuh, uh)
We don′t fist fight, that's a mismatch (match, match)