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Cam'ron

Genres: Hip-Hop

Dead The Funeral Lyrics - Cam'ron

Killa 

'For leaf big blowgun, fag nigga's bitch, doj' an' 

Peach chrome, sick Rover, Zeke home so bend over 

He looked at me and said "Killa I'll be your kitchen pitcher, the bid was rough" 

I said nigga I did the bid with' ya 

Capiche, not Mona Lisa it's the big picture 

Six scriptures, six blickers, grip triggers, strip niggaz 

The Big Dipper, swig liquor, big liver 

Now that you home watch the shit differ, I dig nigga 

Soon as a nigga whisper, believe we jiggin' Jigga 

He Elton Brand in a barber chair, he'll get the Clippers 

I don't care who you are, the point, don't be stupid pa 

We celebrities with guns, shooting stars 

Yeah remove ya bras, a few of ours in through-in cars 

Spray 21, Blackjack, I knew ya cards 

Kid roll, Peter Rowe like Kennedy 

Friends with me at the graveyard, visits from old enemies 

Some bitched, some snitched, some owed us dough 

Piss on the tombstone, write on it, "Told you so" 

Check my portfolio, I was poor then rose to dough 

KNow what I'm about in a drought I score, overflow 

I'm the waterboy, wet work for water call 

The price is nice, TLC, some waterfalls 

Fiends snort it all, this fact I report to y'all 

Go inside, extort them all, from short to tall you oughta ball 

And where the ballas live and all my friends all to win 

This the second time around, that shit you call again 

Damn yo' lady fine, you been on yo' baby grind 

Me I'm 86, highest temp, P-89s 

Everyday we shine, fine, don't pay me mind 

My watches are retarded, you can call 'em crazy times 

Mines are more than brothers 

We gon' rock til the Range, Benz, and Porsches clutter 

Garage, assorted colors 

Yeah Crayola box, for that, payola doc 

I'll lay you over a stroller with the strangest odor ock 

Is it over not, huh, we immune to you 

We shoot the wake up, striaght up and dead the funeral 

 

Ay yo hold the fuck up 

I said we gon' shoot the wake up and dead the fu- 

You dead already we gon' dead the fu- 

 

Matter fact son, bring that shit back up, fuck it 

 

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And you heard Rell, I do worst than foul 

They murdered Roberta, lawyer murdered murder trials 

We deserve to style, walk on Persian tile 

On the island with millions, Durst to Al 

I get cake in layers, not the Daily News 

But when I flip, I make the papers, hate the mayor 

I'm a gangsta, I fuck ma, go date a player 

Man these dudes are fish market, straight fillet ya 

Went to war with Kromo, then Pataki 

Then Guilliani, then I went to North Cackalacky 

What you gon' tell a mobster, cake was hella proper 

No Petey Pablo when I saw them helicopters 

That's the letter niggaz, trinckets from the ghetto bird 

Her word said I gave the whole ghetto birds 

Man your case go find it, need a new assignment 

That ain't giving out, first of all that's call for silent 

Contest to play 

You got no gunwounds, jail time, felonies, real shit on your resume 

I get you extra yay, not tomorrow, yesterday 

If they ask, never say, snitch and we never play, ay 

 

Photos 

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