Brotha Lynch Hung Deep Down (featuring Mr Doctor) Lyrics

Deep Down (featuring Mr Doctor) Lyrics

[Brotha Lynch]



Yeah I could load a 9 up everyday, but why



My locc's told me homie make them tapes



And keep that 24 block alive



But if I feel I'm in need, I got's to ride



Carry a 9 for straight business, not just a side



Man it's the night-mare, creepin up in the cut



I'm hittin dice games, barbeques, no matter what



The things I've seen'll make ya throw up



Flaunt your flag, shoot your gats, hit your dank



Where I'm from that's how ya grow up



Man it's that wicked and 9 millimeter



Carrier bein stereo-typed daily



Ya got's to feel me, foo it's that baby



Killas run around everyday that's why I'm strapped



Ya heard it I got my own back-fade



Out into the 'lac and hit the city of Sac



Them homies given me that



But you got them fools that want a foe then



They wonderin why I'm carryin me a 12 gauge pump



Man I ain't no punk



The average everyday thug that's how it sounds



I'm defendin myself, and loadin that mili



And leaving em layin







[Chorus] X 4



Deep down, there's a place for hope







[Mr. Doctor]



I guess it's hard to explain why I'm feelin how I'm feelin



I guess I'm feelin sorrow cus my homies got some stealin



And foos would say that it's my fault I bet



See cus I wasn't strapped yo, but I can't fuck my set



How could I know that them foos would blast?



Later on, on my folks



It's funny how this bangin's got its different strokes



I think about my loccs and how they made it



Though I'm stressin from the fact



They gotta suffer from a bullet hole



And Mr. Doctor just don't have hope locc



It's only been a month, since my last down partner got smoked



And rivals is deep, up in my city foo



Since I'm on the underground team, I can't have no peace



My life is tore up so I guess I'm stuck



Yeah, I got my St. Ides, I'm turnin it up



To get drunk, then I post up on the street



While I say to myself, for the block



Homie rest in peace







[Chorus] X 4







[Brotha Lynch]



They say that ain't the way to handle that type funk



But now I'm loadin up the strap, smokin on that blunt



Just cus the Brotha Hung is flag-up



What that mean, I can't ride?



Why G's up in my face, I'm bout to help them ride



I keep a low pro, drink the 4-0



And lounge until it's time to go



Shinin up the forty-fo



Rollin up the boogey-boo, indo



And hopin if I should die, before I'm high



That they bury me in 50 pounds of chocolate thai



I got them homies from the south-side givin it up and



Them homies from the east-side slangin that stuff and



I'm right up in the middle tryin to hang on and



Tryin not to end up like them niggas doin time in the pen



But then again



I'm down for when the homies is ready to roll em up



You know, stick in a dark-blue cut



And as I'm creepin through ya set



Trip, don't get caught up, shot up



The gardenblock locc's, man we leave em layin







[Chorus] X 4