Dayton Family - Newspaper lyrics

Worldwide can feel us, fucking squealers

Southside drug dealers, niggaz know us

Southside Playaz, sit down at the table 2000

Any nigga sitting down huh, getting checks

All the details, acting like some fucking females

Bitch go count a nigga money, simp ass nigga

You rapping gift of gabbing, got the F.B.I. plotting

Got H-Town hot, like the banging in Watts

Trying to take me from my kids, you hot in a cot

Got prices on your head, your life about to get bought

24 hours, is definite you get shot

My homegirl fucked you, that's just the point of the plot

Me and Pablo, doing devilish shit like Diablo

Tyte Eyez out the gate, I got legitimate weight

Mike D called me up, said some nigga was squealing

Giving FED's photography, nigga street biographies

Told Clay-Doe, was flying birds through Luado

They said 3-2, was connected with some people

This nigga see through, rope him up smoke him up

Catch him coming home from the club drunk, and murdered the punk

Throw him in the trunk, all about that snitching shit

Who we copping from, who we in the kitchen with

You might not live to tell, (oh well)

These niggaz scared of jail, (like hell)

Telling everything they know, (like hoes)

You think it's all gravy, (well bitch you gotta go)

Nigga own up to your case, and take your fucking charge

Don't be a coward motherfucker, when them laws snap the corde

He found barred that's infinity, you better open your mouth

Don't be scared till the bitch die, to hit that jail house

In the South it done got hot, federal agents don't love us

My boys is selling they soul, running they dick suckers

Like Kilo and Little Man, the game done went deeper

Hope they know that it's over with, if they ever hit the streets

Some shit you keep to yourself, and take it to the grave

You bit your tongue put to your throat, for information that you gave

I can't save no snitch, and give em no kinda hassle

Let them words that you told, nigga be your last

I knew this candy and a hook up, ain't good with sorese

Had his peeky at the street, off bout a hundred a week

At least boss balling, motherfucker was paid

Use to take me to his crib, man bitch was laid

Then here come the raid, next to interrogation

On fo' hundred a gram, don't even care bout probation

Now nigga I ain't crazy, I ain't no god damn fool

If you told me that shit, I woulda shot you too

I immediately knew, what I had to do

Took him up to his crib, had a bag by his pool

Told that nigga I had a surprise, and then I showed him

Looked that nigga in his eyes, and then I told him

I know this nigga from the hood, use to juggle them goods

A stand up cat, did his dirt in the woods

Took him from a fifty packer, to a kilo stacker

Block bleeder fa sho, full time Columbian jacker

Took hood money to good money, put me in the studio

Wish I woulda knew then, how this dirty game go

Nigga you think don't fold, go out like hoes

Pressure bust the pipe, this nigga sold his soul

Tied the whole click in, during interrogation

Turned a three brick hit, to a 21 vacation

Knowing you hit the streets, your ghetto pass is void

Put fifty in that