Slap Season (feat. Jelly Roll) Lyrics & Tabs by Ras Kass
Slap Season (feat. Jelly Roll)
guitar chords lyrics
[Verse 1]
They say men don't cry, but why this shit leakin' out my eye?
Every day's a good day to die
If I live each second, stand up straight
Man of a man, shit just don't add up
So what's really good? I can't tell
Got niggaz screaming "Church" going straight to Hell
In a red Testerossa, wild West coaster
Carry techs in holster, respect the Nostra
Fam like mafia, white polo t-shirted
Haters say the same shit like I ain't never hizzeard it
Yall niggaz is funny like Nick Cannon
Got a nickel-plated magnum, nick-named Nick Cannon
Hitman and tryin' not to spit random
Bust at even a phantom, ricocheted and hit Adam
Got a nickel-plated magnum, nick-named Nick Cannon
Hitman and tryin' not to spit random
Bust at even a phantom, ricocheted and hit Adam
Put Satan on my belt and my Force One swooshes
Never bit apple, blend the can with the juices
Fail the plan, you plan to fail
And the plan is to send my little man to Yale
And niggaz know they ain't fuckin' with that
Like what did the five fingers say to the face? Slap!
[Chorus]
Just give me the reason, and I'll promise I'll make it your day (slap season)
My hands are so achey from slappin' these niggaz all day (slap season!)
Boy, I tried to tell you that I don't really play those games (slap season)
Ohhhhhh ohhhhhh ohhhhhhhh... (slap season!)
[Verse 2]
And you can think you know a nigga 'til he get a little fame
Believe me, [censored out] sold his soul in D.C.
Fucked me up though, gotta move on now
Step my game up, making product cologne now
Dumbin' out, minkin'
Bout to a custom made skunk, fur, hoody, and it ain't stinkin'
Yall know the biz, that's what it is
Got Wendy outta Capitol like I clapped on the bitch
Kept my masters, and let paper trail explain
Beat white corporate America at they own game
I'm a couple million dollars richer
Rap has got heads startin' to buy frames, yall get the picture
And before I go broke
I send the bitch on a flight with her baby in her tote
That ain't formula, bottles filled with liquified coke
Make the sign of the cross and die with the Pope
Float through Cali with die moves and blues
Non-affiliates and seranios too
Bulldogs, northerners, and Kumi
Prolly some other shit you never heard of somewhere in the boonies
Shiites and Sunnis, oosoes and goonies
Like Santa, I slide down your chimney, sprayin' a uzi
And niggaz know they ain't fuckin' with that
Like what did the five fingers say to the face? Slap!
[Chorus]
