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    Youngbloodz / Lyrics

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    "Thangs Movin' Slow" Lyrics


    Yeah, attic crew, attic crew and cooley c my nigga
    Yeah, yeah, my nigga, it's attic crew and cooley c my nigga
    Yeah, youngbloodz, youngbloodz and cooley c my nigga
    Um, mark twayne

    Now it's time to let y'all nigga know about me
    Oh I can get mo money, mo money, don't come to me
    And everything I say that be on the blow
    Rap for the love of money, stack it up once mo?
    Going once, going twice, got the o for the low
    Got my cheese in the soil, tryin? to make my flow grow
    Hell no, never fall off

    Slip pimpin?, you can get it hard or get it soft
    All day, round the clock tryin? to get it in
    I ain't worried bout? the rich, cause I'm in the wind
    All I got is my folks, lord forgive me for my sins
    And if this ain't for me, please make me thank again
    Gotta get my shit right, tight like these gurls draws
    Let me recognize the game, and all the flaws
    While I'm out here, please let me come up
    And watch my every step so I don't have to duck
    Never wanted this, damn how a nigga stuck?
    Hit me on the hill nigga, I'm a? sack it up
    Rabbit on my head all day for good luck
    On the hustle everyday, but who really gives a f**k


    So what you got, when you ain't got nothing to show
    Thangs movin? slow, can't get your hands on no blow

    Ain't got no flow, naw, need some quick cash
    If hustlin? is the answer nigga, get up off your ass

    I walk about the crib, with my mind on the dough
    Been hustlin? these verses, ain't got a damn thang to show
    I keep my head up, because I feel it's bout to pop
    Done heard about a deal going down at the dock
    Critics say it don't stop, til? you get it and it's gone
    It's all about the fett?, set it off, get it crunk
    You catch me on the corner, I'll be buddy with the sacks
    Off in the studio it be twayne with the tracks
    Fire, fire, like that dope gettin? smoked everyday
    Got a call from my source, he on the way with the llell? (yeah)
    Coming in from overseas, bout? 82 ki?s
    Not a word to be said, everybody hit your knees, lets leave
    Get the cheese, make away with the blow
    Slip in the door, right before we do the show
    Mr. dope man, your looking kinda sick

    Thangs movin? slow now that you ain't got shit


    So what you got now, you out of luck
    Sellin? your soul to the devil, just to make a quicker buck
    But for what, you took a chance, recieving half of some blow
    And pushing them quarter ki?s underground to keep the flow
    It's toe to toe, we can take it to the deepest of the seas
    And anybody else who wanna bite, then try a piece
    Of these youngbloodz, bustin? 30 slugs, so just perhaps
    You crawlin? out of a shell
    Finding ways up out these traps
    Like craps, you out to gamble, losing everything you own
    And still like to pretend as if this game gonna keep em? known
    And do know, you in a ball of burning hell
    So might as well take a ride on the weed into the a-t-l
    And niggas swear we outdone and out-gunned
    So what's the first attempt when they got you on the run
    With fun, they shootin? tons of shots, so whose to blame
    Nobody but yourself as you hold inside the pain

    This song was submitted on December 20th, 2004 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Carl Dorsey, Harold M. Willis, Jeffrey Ray Grigsby, Sean Paul Joseph.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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