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Beat Club Lyrics

from Indecent Proposal

"Beat Club" is track #13 on the album Indecent Proposal. It was written by Barcliff Melvin Lee; Mitchell Troy L; Charlot Woodley; Mosley Garland Waverly Jr; Mosley Timothy Z.
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"Beat Club" is track #13 on the album Indecent Proposal. It was written by Barcliff Melvin Lee; Mitchell Troy L; Charlot Woodley; Mosley Garland Waverly Jr; Mosley Timothy Z.
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Beat club
Untitled, uhh uhh, uhh, yes
Uhh uhh, uhh, yes, uhh uhh
Uhh uhh Timbaland, uhh, uhh uhh
Uhh, uhh uhh, yes, uhh
One, two, three, here we go

Yo, who wanna wreck you with the iller thug, super killer thug
You know that thug that's used to doin' it out the dub
I go Shaft on niggaz, don't make me have to call my killers
Staff on niggaz, get bloodbaths for all you niggaz
Yo, I ain't tryna talk shit straight up I walk this shit
I'm used to bossin' shit and offin' clips
See hood is around my way, they talk often quick
To us you spit, and leave that nigga coffin shit

See we gang, we never bought it in the streets, I slang
Peeps I train to hustle, get it take out names
Let me bang and spread it all around the project blocks
I'm sick with glocks, now bitches get ridiculous jocks
Now thug filthy niggaz walkin' through your club with blunts
Grill with fronts, keep Henny on the spill for months
I get trucks from the bitches and the niggaz I crush
And figure the last niggaz that fuck with us

Yo, Mag never roll with a gun, Mag roll with a two-case
Get up in some beef niggaz end up with a screw face
Besides that I got a gang of P-town niggaz with court cases
And they all gettin' life
We can be enemies after fuckin' your wife, or runnin' train on 'em
Piss on a slut, let it rain on 'em
But I'd rather put my brain on 'em
Look at the bitch, she got a frame on 'em

Mag hit it then came on 'em
"Alias" if you with me you ride
Get in the back of the Lex' and be out of your tux
Label me "Alias" from my respects to crack this case
I'm past bein' berserk, nigga, look at my face
I got an ill way of showin' my pain
Fuck talkin' how I'm hurt, Mag take out his brain
I'm goin' insane and y'all niggaz, hatin' my thang
Mag the illest nigga spittin', fuck the simple and plain

Sin the reason why rap ain't gon' be the same
First niggaz speak my name, off with his brain
Put the heat to his back, clap his lungs collapse
If I would sell, six plat', I'm done with rap
How many y'all gotta touch, then found out Sin's too much
Uncut, can't touch
You remind me, of pussy, you bitch ass nigga
Up North, drawers off, snitch ass nigga

Now I'm hangin' with superstars and fuckin' them in the cocktail room
After the nuttin', sweep 'em out with the broom
Mag ghetto as ever but mo' cheddar
Used to smoke dub sacks now just pound [unverified]
But I got a sweet tooth for crime but never kill
I run with steel, stay in the house, put my dick up in Jill
Poppin' usin' the pill, never did it before
I wanna see how it feel, when you fuck wit' my skill

I make a mil' [unverified], pussy much fine in weather
Fam's wipin' they tongues a little
Mag run for the street, or for the block
Brand new cribs still dissin' the pot
Some bums take change see
Neighbors lookin' at Mag strangely
Find thyself, hangin' from a tree
But I'm a real life gleeful
"Alias" is next, but that nigga ain't diesel [unverified]

Yo, I used to keep it on the low when I was younger
But now I'm big boss in the game, come let me show you somethin'
So whatchu need is a tech or a four five calico with a nose wide
And women don't know when to slow slide
My A-K in the cut, with my 'dro hidin'
I keep them hookers holdin' my fort, and keep a low vibe
I heard the feds hate me 'cuz I'm so live
From five o'clock to four oh five sellin' quarters and dimes

Even Magoo got a watch, I ain't dumb
Ain't no familiars in this place where I'm slingin' it from
I got wholesale weight, that low sale weight
Or any kind of weight that make my dough flow straight
'Cuz I'm, oh, so great, real thugs, no fake
That's why they down to play me on radio stations and rotations
Thugs hate, everything I stand fo', throw hands fo'
Make plans fo', roll on yo' camp fo'

Laid back in the same colored Escalade
Run over rappers that test the brake
Leave you under the jeep and test your faith
Put it in reverse and, crush your face
Go to court, tell the judge fuck the case
Go to jail, no bail, cut your face
Get it right nigga, you dealin' with apes
I came for the safe now show me the cake, uhh

Listen, as soon I'm on the show you struggle in raps
Anticipate nickel plates, man, right where you sat
Like a panel nigga under your shirt, picture that
How your child's gonna burp when you losin' your lap?
Hey, I'm bringin' the shade, don't floss in the day
Niggaz think they so cold like they jewelry okay
I'm hittin' hoes, respondin' like you charmin' the dame
Crackin' up like, "Damn, which one of y'all paid?"

A pretty boy got hookers thinkin' that the blows don't trade
That's the day that the curls slide under the braid
I'll give you somethin' sharp to raise that line in your fade
Different ligaments torn for every round that's sprayed
Puttin' hoes into groups and spittin' them up like Jake
Du-rags ain't safe, bullets skip through waves
I'll hop drive thru, pop somethin' in Dave
I ain't from around yo' way, nigga, I'm from V A

Songwriters
Barcliff Melvin Lee; Mitchell Troy L; Charlot Woodley; Mosley Garland Waverly Jr; Mosley Timothy Z

Published by
VIRGINIA BEACH MUSIC

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