Z-ro Dirty Work lyrics

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Dirty Work by Z-ro Dirty Work lyrics All this old friendly ass shit, nigga Ain't nothing friendly about the motherfucking game You understand me, if you listen I'ma tell you right Open your motherfucking ears Shit, it ain't fair but somebody got to do it, knowI'msaying [Black Mike] I came from underground, where my hood resigned Nothing left but the bad and ugly cause the good done died We tried laying low niggas want to cross them lines So when I'm saying so you getting bumped off this time Fuck a throw away, I'm looking for the gun in your house To kill your family for some shit they ain't know nothing about We running the south, while other niggas running they mouth If you smart, you'll take cover cause we come in your route Cause when we ride you could best believe there's guns in sight How many times mama cried cause her sons done died I pull my nine out, all of my barrels are fouled out So the bullets that I bust the feds don't find out Which gun, which nigga, which figga points to the trigger man Still well connected not worried about who's the bigger man Z-Ro, my nigga man, Pharoah, the Killa Klan I'm Black Mike, Network for life, ain't no realer jam (Chorus) We make sure the dirty work get done Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton Scratch makers, nigga we killers Aggravated guerillas, been pimping in this bicth for scrilla We make sure the dirty work get done Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton Scratch makers, nigga we killers Putting heads on pillows Fuck around and weep like a willow, we cap peelers [Pharoah] King shots, killer greed penn, money hard Nigga to sleep, murdering a kingpin My composer, a soldier, you can call me one When it's time to ride you know I'm ready to activate my gun Straight head shots, toe tagged in a body bag And the outcome you stuck with, if I got to blast I'm coming to get you, pull your punk ass out the picture And fix the braids on your head, that means I'ma get richer P-H-A-R-O-A-H, now you know My motherfucking name I never play fake Easy does it, do it easy when I execute To that nigga and the darkside when my weapon shoot Shoot again and feel like I just made boy With no evidence, to be found I remain calm Murdering edition, I make a motherfucker disappear Slip the clip in, open fire then dripping him (Chorus) [Z-Ro] I put stitches in the general son of a bitch nigga when he bump up Running to the trunk for the pump, I'm already ready to dump I've been working dirty, knocking busters for being surety So I'm at your dome cussing like James, you ain't worthy Like a little old girly perpetrating a man Dude we taking over this bitch and here to demonstrate demands And bitch the down south gangsta R-A-P, 1990 Started with Street Military and K-A-G We toe tagging, body bagging, sagging and bragging Weed it up inflate it down, you damn shot and flipped the meat wagon So save me some son of a guns, when it's over We one of the ones on the top, haters smell it and running to come Trying to drop a dime on us, or trying to take us out After we deal with it we rap about it and then it make us hot Fuck your crime rate and murder rate, running up on Houston Texas Well it be fuck y'all for trying to funk us on a burning day (Chorus - 2x)

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