Key: G minor•
Verse 1
(Lynch Talking)
Gm
About to leave the studio it's 9- 11, 2002
F
Gm
Up in here wid my
nigga C- O once again
Ya know what I'm sayin?
And the motherfuckin' bad
news is
What? Suspicion is back
Ya know, here we go
Verse 2
Gm
(Brotha Lynch Hung) I got that spit venom
shit that'll
wrinkle up ya denim shit
Fuck them niggaz they all hoes
I run up in them quick
Turn 'em into statues,
lead tattoos I stay
Twenty four deep and bring niggaz the
bad news like
F
Gm
The Metro Section I spit petrol
like gas nozzles
Bang wid my thangs nigga,
F
Gm
you the last models
From the Garden to the creep
module
I'm off the bottle makin'
F
Gm
out ready to lick these nuts
Had a dream watchin' me get out
beat niggaz like Rick James get aim
Cause like Pac's attraction I grip thangs
And it's hard and cold it'll make
ya heart a cold
I sweat so much I'm so
hot, I'm hard to hold
And I'll tell you somethin'
else fool Suspicion for life
F
Gm
Have you comin' home from
work late, missin' ya wife
And ya kids and ya cribs tore up,
F
Gm
I leave ya ribs tore up
Nuttin' else better I do,
than cut up cold cuts
Wid some niggaz that'll cut you in the
neck and leave you butt naked
Layin' dead in ya Lexus, what
you doing?
Fryin' niggaz like they do out in Texas,
Why?
Lyin' to niggaz cause they
fakin' the love
You be the one takin' the slug
And you show me that you ain't got no
love for me I'm done cuz
Verse 3
as fuck
Have you left set up dead in a vacant lot
No matter what they can talk
all that gangsta shit
If ya gangsta walk still ain't shit
F
Gm
I break ya loccs and run up
Verse 4
in yO shit
(Suspicion)
Look we roll shit blow shit,
I been blue shit
Old shit new shit, keep it true shit
Always in a blue fit, and
old school kicks
Posted where they move
bricks if it was me quick
Man my life wasn't nothin'
sweet
At fifteen years old was
livin' out on the street
With rocks between my teeth like where the fuck
I'm gon' sleep
F
Gm
Grandmomma don't want me
and I ain't seen dad for weeks
And momma ain't never
been there for me
F
Gm
It's like she probably never
cared to shed a tear for me
So now the whole world's
like a glare to me
Through all these hard times can
F
Gm
barely see prepared to leave
But I dare one of these cats wid no
haps for they fame
This rap's for the tracks yeh
they wack but they flames
Tryna dirty up my name, I leave 'em stained
F
Gm
Gunshots to middle of
they brain, I leave 'em drained
Duck cops from here to the gate,
I leave 'em dazed
Cause fuck goin' back to that
place I take the grave
Whether you see me go out
ridin' or as a slave
Just look at how they got us,
dealin' wid drama
F
Fuck it pour another shot of that Vodka load
up the chopper
Gm
(Hook x2) (Brotha Lynch Hung) I'm young black
Verse 5
shit wid mack shit
In the back shit make
'em do back flips
F
Gm
You must be off that crack shit
Fuckin' wid the tactics
got spitz like a gat spit
And I'm gonna rip a nigga
to bits for instance
F
Gm
I burn incense and think about shit
I don't need your ten cents juts break 'em
right quick (then what?)
Shake 'em right quick (then what?), make
Gm
You suck lug nuts ya love nuts I plug stuff,
cut guts up
Ya tough luck punk, fuckin' wid
flames around gas
Heat, enough heat to cook
ya turkey fried deep like
Louisiana blow sacks like
Santana might
Run up in ya spot with
the dark blue bandana right
Wid banana clips takin'
you out, run in ya house
Let the nine milli cum in ya mouth
Runnin' the South like Cash Money
I bang niggaz in the head you a crash
dummy
I mash niggaz
(Hook x2)
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TunerE A D G B E
ChordsGm F
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