For My N*ggas - Freddie Gibbs, Hayes

[This is for my niggas, this is for my nigga-nigga

This is for my niggas, my niggas on the block.]

Verse 1: (Freddie Gibbs)

My niggas bang, my niggas brawl, my niggas slang, my niggas ball

My niggas ain’t trippin they play they position and handle the mission whenever

I call

My dogs, runnin from laws, pimpin money from broads

You show me a bitch and I show her this pimpin I bet you I get in them draws

Oh nah, Gibbs don’t play with them hoes, he be breakin them hoes,

hit the strip and catch a date for them hoes

Bout my paper neighbor, I expect my cake from them hoes

And if you pay it like you weigh it you can skate with them hoes, yup

My niggas don’t keep 'em or cuff 'em end of discussion

Niggas out here bluffin, mother had 'em, mother love 'em, motherfuck 'em

Cause even they mothers won’t be able to identify 'em

, had to fry 'em, hit them with that iron

My niggas don’t talk, my niggas don’t bitch, my niggas don’t snitch

Niggas is hungry, fiend for chips, my niggas’ll flip and run in your shit

My niggas got Ks, my niggas got MACs, my niggas got TECs, my niggas equipped

Man my niggas down to leave your body stiff for the chips

This for my niggas

Verse 2: (Hayes)

Fuck them fake niggas they don’t know what loyal is, dropped out of school and

started fights with the spoiled kids

Thought I was broke 'til I discovered what a brick was, 850 thousand got me big

love

Tricked some, became a legend in them strip clubs, but I was bigger in the

streets from fuckin with them thugs

A hood rat’s dream, a ghetto nigga’s idol, we the champions in the streets man

we hold the title

Made more money off the block than preachers with them bibles, don’t be steppin

out of line that gets suicidal

I got a lot of killers, we got a lot of guns, no respect for shit, murder anyone

Verse 3: (Hayes+Freddie Gibbs)

Hayes the heroin man, Gibbs slang them the weed

You got what they want, I got what they need

These niggas bleed for the yola from Gary to Minnesota, hold the toaster 'til

I’m rolling in Rovers and Testarossas and Bentleys without the top,

what you got?

No patience and an army of hundred niggas thats outside waiting,

for a nigga to front, that’ll get him Christmas treed

Lit up real good in front his whole family

Man, this ain’t no fuckin game, you don’t wanna see me with that thang

Ducked off in a cud box with an SK and a Glock don’t test my aim

Don’t test my crew keep more protection than an AIDS clinic, trunk big enough

to fit you, ten bricks, and a gauge in it

Yeah, hundred round drum in my, and niggas’ll if they get out of line

Pull out the llama, you dead where you layin, and bullets will spray if you

fuckin with mine, nigga

I love my block, they make that hood paper stack for me, my mother proud of me,

still think its rap money