Block Bleeder Lyrics

Block Bleeder lyrics

f/ Den Den







(*talking*)



Z-Ro the Crooked, 2K motherfucking 1



This for all my motherfucking block bleeders



Fuck 9 to 5, know I'm saying



I'm talking to the niggas that gon survive



The motherfucking nine, nickels and dimes



Stracks, fifty pack, feel that, nigga get your paper







[Den Den]



Got me pissed off frustrated, you know you outta line



Plus I'm trying to count you getting high, off this Alabama tie



Falling short of my plans, so my anger is rising



Let me take out I-10, while my pressure is climbing



I can't mind on drank, so I'm in another mode



Moving way too fast, down this one way road



Let me catch my snap, before I roll another crap



And regret what I done, I been really shaft



Its a fact that my block, be hotter than the sun



You can sco' anything there, from drank to marijuana



And the corner, is for the stronger heart



Separate the men from the boys, and the weak from the smart



And apart, from all these hoe ass laws



Its a 24 no tolerance, for those that crawl



Through my block, you might get your busted



Dick in the dust, for fucking with us on my block







[Chorus]



Block bleeder, surviving in the game



I wanna live righteous, but I need to stack change



I know I'm going through it, but I gotta maintain



Block bleeder, surviving in the game



My block is on fire, and I'm addicted to the flame



Stain after stain, know what I'm talking mayn







[Z-Ro]



Judge me not, on what you see, nigga



Don't you realize, this life of mine is killing me



Straight from a Christian, to a heartless killa



Innocent child raised by the guerillas



Military minded, plus I'm starving for scrilla



Affiliated with killas, that shermed out and tooted



But we don't know no better, paper's got our mind polluted



I repent for my sins, cause I know my number's coming up



I'm paranoid my nigga, don't be running up



Whether friends or foe, I really don't know



That's why I'm warning you Ro, you need to just



Back up a ski taste, or I'll be tagging your toe



Since these punk ass individuals, drag my name through the mud



I ain't got nothing to say to niggas, unless they after the bud



Pumping pack after pack, barley missing a platinum plack



HPD be on a nigga with no slack, I want executive money



The CEA, Chief Executive Artist, instead of 36 ounces



Pistol grip and a cartridge, a block bleeder







[Chorus]







[Z-Ro]



The block is hot as a clinic, but its profession to me



And like Juve I'm posted up, so I can watch for the sweet



I've been less fortunate, and had to hustle all my life



Listening to people say, its gon be alright all my life



I even got a lady that's been faithful, all my life



She's still my gavel, cause I can't afford to call her my wife



I should be thankful that Dennison Dre, done gave me some help



But I'm depending on grown men, and I'm a grown man myself



Feeling lesser than nothing, and barely fucking with zones



Its like an obstacle course of dynamite, under every corner



I bob and weave through the hard time, my life is pain



From struggle where niggas fired, the reason that I record mine



Infrared, nigga you better protect your head



On my block when we kill eachother, no tears get shed



You take a front from a nigga, you better be quick to pay up



Bring his feddy back on time, or he'll be quick to spray ya



Twenty Fo' seven packing a Mac 11, on my turf



Running away from the police, chunking evidence like a Nurf



I'd rather sell my own records, Chief Executive Artist



Instead of 36 ounces pistol grip and a cartridge, a block bleeder







[Chorus]