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It's Over Lyrics

from Free Agents: The Murda Mixtape

"It's Over" is track #16 on the album Free Agents: The Murda Mixtape. It was written by Caldwell, Bobby.
"It's Over" is track #16 on the album Free Agents: The Murda Mixtape. It was written by Caldwell, Bobby.

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[Havoc]
Yeah.. uh-huh
Y'all niggaz ain't ready to die
Why the fuck they frontin like they is?

[Prodigy]
Aiyyo Dunn, aiyyo yo
You could catch P laid back, in triple black trucks
Or catch him swingin pain(?) bottles in the club
Won't catch me with the police without cuffs
Can't press me into no threatenin position
Probably spot me, steppin out the tree spot tough
Catch P fixin his pants, it's cause of his gun
You see the God, big ol' chains, but can't stick him
Cause they know I shoot niggaz like Slick Rick and them
Source at the thug events, y'know we hittin them
Caught him spendin fake hundreds at the bar, we was gettin them
Drugs in my system, all types of shit
Keeps me where I wanna be, don't get me started on that
Just peep how aggressive my niggaz is with this
And check how we set up shop to get our chips
Niggaz study our verse like college kids (word)
We know you love our style, get off our dick
(Yeah that's right, uh-huh)

[Chorus]
[H] Y'all niggaz ain't ready to die
Why the fuck they frontin like they is?
[P] Cause they wanna be like the reals
And be amongst the thugs that do this for real
[H] Y'all niggaz ain't ready to die
Why the fuck they frontin like they is?
[P] Cause you wanna do it like Hav'
And do it like P, but mad shit missin

[Havoc]
Y'all niggaz is pussy, and ain't nothin gangsta in ya
Rapid fire empty the clip, reload and continue
If not anything else the four-pound'll spin ya
And end you where you stand (uh-huh) dead you cause I can
Believe me my hammer don't give a damn what you been through
It's a cold cold world, my whole life was a winter
Never gave a fuck about the cold (nah) draped in thermal
Don't put your nose in things don't concern you
This grown man business, y'all niggaz so childish
I'm in the cut, analyzin while you fools is wildin
Pickin my mark, and I'ma clap my heat off the grip
Murder so clean you can eat off the shit
I'm a paranoid nigga, don't get too close
Or I might think you schemin on me, I'm cockin the toast
The game cutthroat so I killed the ref
Mobb fallin off, baby girl don't hold your breath, breath
(Yeah that's right, uh-huh)

[Chorus]

Songwriters
CALDWELL, BOBBY

Published by
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENT US, LLC

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