Текст, перевод и аккорды “Hate Music”
- HOOK: Cam'ron Ayo my niggas can't take music Everybody rap to us, so we hate music Now we make the hate music We 'bout to rape music, straight up degrate music You aint 18, shit, don't even play music Killin is another high I hope your girl get AIDS, your brother crash and dash Or your mother die, and your sister is a topless dancer No answer, glaucoma, and your pops got cancer [Juelz Santana] Yo I'm a motherfucking nightmare, y'all can either love me or hate me Know alotta niggas wanna slug me and waste me That's why I never keep the gun on safety When I get this money, y'all gon hate me Y'all act like Harlem aint that shit, go 'head and play dumb Like y'all don't know where AlPo and Rich bought the caine from Sugarhill cocaine slums, get it correct Real niggas spit at your chest, look at your death Y'all cop Playstations, play Live 2000 I'ma cop guns, try to survive 2000 Nigga like me be on the block every day While you think your moms look rocked every day Cuz she come see me for them rocks every day Keep the thang close, ready to pop every day Cuz I'm tired of you spot betters I got a 380 full of hot peppers, that'll rip through them cop's sweaters You dudes is chumps, talkin 'bout you live like thugs You be home watchin Midnight Love No bitch, you and your hand makin midnight love It's over dog, you need to just get right fuck, what HOOK [Cam'ron] I got the gun and clip, runnin shit I run chains, run rings, run in your block, make you run Then I run things Piss in a cup, come on, fuck a drug test I'm on my block, knockout kings, slugfest A few beers cold, come through here bold A few of us blew our goals when fuckin two years old Off to the lobby, all to the body, then auction a shottie Go to Boston and party hardy with Walter McCardy Drunk, smackin bitches off the Bacardi Hustle often as robbery, so guns, coppin double Fuck around with me, I'ma pop your bubble Put up my own yellow tape, save the cops the trouble If you wanna see my true portions, screw bossin Kill you like Mike pop for new Jordans Come through flossin, jail aint nothin for me I got cake baby, bail aint nothin for me I'm that same son of a B, gun in the V Coke, guns, hookers, I'm the one that you see Cats still talkin fly, put his tongue in a tree If we nice, then we'll let him keep his lung for a G When I rap, it aint nothing but hungry you see Jimmy, Juelz, Cam, yo I'm one of the three, beeotch HOOK
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