Текст, перевод и аккорды “Grill Em (Remix)”
- feat. Hell Rell, JR Writer [Intro: Cam'Ron] THIS IS A REMIX J.R WRITER...FEATURING HELL RELL, AND MYSELF... KILLA! WE ABOUT TO LET Y'ALL MOTHERFUCKERS KNOW WHY WE RUN THE WORLD.....YA DIIIIIG? [Bridge: JR Writer] This that get 'em sound This that get it down This that 2 step, wheel shaker, spin around This that pick a clown, size him up, try ya luck Playa hate, grill him down...lemme see you twist ya frown [Cam'Ron KILLA! They got guns, well maybe they'll squeeze / (maybe they'll squeeze) I'm a piano I got 88 keys (88 keys) Mami sniffed it, it went to baby brain (wooo) Road the subway now I'm on the gravy train (aiiiiii!) What you call balling, all y'all boring Knock his teeth on the grill, "Paul Wall foreman" All these pricks, I took weed trips "Tore the club up", yep, on that 3 6 (Three Six Mafia) I'm the realest of cats, and I'm still where it's at I been broke with the South, trill to the trap Stealing, wheeling caps I been peeling them back (back) We dealing you squealing, we killing the rats (rats!) Santana.....KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM, KILL EM! J.R...GRILL EM GRILL EM GRILL EM, GRILL EM! I will pop you while I'm popping a pop-a-wheel Paid In Full not the deal...put him in Potter's Field [Hook: JR Writer] DON'T STOP, GRILL EM! DON'T STOP, GRILL EM! DON'T STOP, GRILL EM! DON'T STOP, GRILL EM! DON'T STOP, GRILL EM, GRILL EM, GRILL EM, GRILL EM, GRILL EM DON'T STOP, GRILL EM! [Hell Rell] Mr. Ruger picture a coward confronting me Nature's mad because the trunk is in the front of me / (foreign) Gangsta's on In the back of me, hammer on the hip of me Hand full of piffery, damn I know they sick of me They gon' say the boy's the hardest this year And I'm a G so, I'ma eat regardless this year Come to the crib, yeah it's retarded in there Big screens, suede couches, bunch of marble in there Damn, undercover hating, shit just let it out And why ya hair done ma, all you gon' do is sweat it out Go through any nigga town and Dipset it out Shit they'd rather set him up then just set him out Make these nigga's bleed, make 'em blood donors And they don't wanna let me in, smack the club owner Got shades on, I'm always high bitch You looking at a star, I ain't even in the sky bitch [Hook] [Bridge: JR Writer] This that get 'em sound This that get it down This that 2 step, wheel shaker, spin around [J.R Writer] The sporty is foreign, shorty's adoring (all day) Fuck if the couches are suede, my Mauries are on 'em (fuck it) I'm fresh head to toe check how bad the don bling A thousand grams, chain got a Barry Bonds swing (bling!) I get her with the swag, then get 'em with the Jag (errrr!) What's on my left sleeve is what get 'em to the pad Them chickens in a bag, you ain't fresh in my eyes I ain't doing nothing to her but she's letting me slide From the floor to the bathroom, hall to the backroom Then dog out the whore, on his balls like a vacuum Mack 'em and duck to the back of the bus She's a scraggler and yup, she ain't wack but she sucks If you act like a scrap then in back is a truck (with what?) Where they packing a Mac with some caps for you smucks Huh, I can't stand to slouch, you know what fam's about She ask to see my grill so I pulled the Phantom out (look at this grill) [Hook] [Outro: JR Writer] This that get 'em sound This that get it down This that 2 step, wheel shaker, spin around This that pick a clown, size him up, try ya luck Playa hate, grill him down... lemme see you twist ya frown
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