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    Down Bottom

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    Down Bottom

      About "Down Bottom"

      Lyrics for Drag-on - "Down Bottom"

      Ha, ha, ha
      Oh, damn
      Now bop to this
      Oh Yeah
      Ya'll know what this is
      Flame on
      Flame on
      And now Swizz, Swizz Beatz yeah

      Me and my niggas done licked shots
      Even done hit cops
      Bet ya'll niggas can't wait till my shit drop
      Treat you like your moma given' lip to pop
      Nigga you don't want my paper drop
      Cause that means I'm empty
      And your full of it
      Check what the bullet did
      Missiles gonna hit you get you
      Rip through tissue
      Should have never rhymed this cause I miss you
      I make plus cash
      Ya'll little niggas can't fuck wit Drag
      Got the chain out
      So it's bust and grab
      Nigga fuck that
      You better bust back
      'Fore ya nigga ask back where the vest at
      Rock like a girl but you can't trust cash
      Spit like a fire but you can't touch black
      All you can do is cuss back
      And read back how you bust gats
      Nigga we don't need that
      I don't care about your feed back
      Ya'll niggas don't feed Drag
      Tell a motherfucker pull out
      Bust a bullet out
      In ya safe house
      Nigga where the keys at
      Nigga where the stash at
      Nigga where the weed at
      Nigga pass that 'fore I pull my trigger
      Mater fact where the ass at
      Cause I got the Ruff Ryders
      And I ain't talkin bout my niggas
      Nigga we can go hoe for hoe
      Toe to toe
      Blow for blow
      And when you fell your nose crack
      That mean I broke that
      I'm fittin to PO-PO wit a flame thrower like I told yo' befo' ya know
      You can't handle it
      You can put me on wax but my fire burn candles
      And who that nigga Ruff Rydin'
      Ya'll niggas and south siders

      Do ya'll niggas bust ya'll guns
      Hell yeah we bust our guns
      Do you fuck them 'till they cum
      Damn right we make them cum
      It's for the north
      Head South, Head East, Head West
      Ruff Ryders gonna show ya'll niggas who rides the best

      In the late night
      We be cockin' high givin' you stage fright
      Yo' head might explode
      When I bust with the lead pipe
      And I say right
      Juvenile hey tight
      Stay hype
      Now page mike and make sure he got all the yeah aight
      I'm tired of niggas be thinkin' that you usein' me
      Runnin' with them petty ass niggas lookin' like fools to me
      I'm workin' wit some change ha
      And ain't afraid to put fifty up on ya brain ha
      You 'bout warin' over ya people I'm the same ha
      Look I'ma have some body sayin' that's the shame game
      But if them people come they ain't gonna give no names ha
      Playin' with the number one son don't play no games ha
      Come outside don't see nothin' but camouflage and bricks
      Yo' get some boys strapped with (ban)danas tryin' knock off yo' shit
      Ya stankin' bitch
      I Ruff Ryde your ass then
      Cashin' for money
      Juve ain't gettin nothin'
      Ha, Ha, Ha that shit is funny

      [Chorus:Repeat x2]

      When my niggas get knocked we gonna bail them out
      When it come to my gun my shells is out
      You better get the message cause I done mailed it out
      I'ma bang like a hammer and I'ma nail us out
      East west the right
      This for my niggas up north
      My guns made in China so you better dust off
      Cause when they getcha you gonna be ketchup
      I always got cheddar
      I never ass bet ya'
      And I won't even sweat ya'
      We roll much larger and better
      My dough is never low
      But if Drag is down on his last
      I'ma reach in my sweater bet my baretta
      Make a nigga feel heat in cold weather
      Can't stand a nigga hype
      Throw me his bitch
      Bitch come to my shit
      You betta come get her
      Be like a dog with a bone I run with her
      Ya'll make me so tired
      Ya'll niggas still rappin' like ya'll don't know my flows fire
      Ya'll ain't got ya'll boots
      Ain't got ya'll suits probably got a gun that ain't never shoot
      When they come you better hope they don't name you
      Cause like two sticks rubbin' I'll flame you
      Don't try to be me cause I ain't you
      'Fore I have your spirits with the angels
      My shorty keep a gun on the ankles
      Wanna fuck watch out she will bang you
      Cause I taught her well
      Ya'll players better haul to hell
      But you niggas couldn't borrow a belt
      Who evers wit you is gonna jail
      Is you niggas bustin' guns or you ain't bustin' none ha
      You want to fuck 'em till they cum ha
      Drag-on Juvenile double up what you want ha

      [Chorus:Repeat x4]

      Smalls, Mel Jason / Dean, Kasseem / Gray, Teruis
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