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Leave You Alone Lyrics

from Killa Season

"Leave You Alone" is track #4 on the album Killa Season. It was written by Robey, Don / Giles, Cameron.
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"Leave You Alone" is track #4 on the album Killa Season. It was written by Robey, Don / Giles, Cameron.
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I gotta leave, leave you alone
Wish I could
I gotta leave the hood alone eventually right?
I don't know

Leave the hood, I would but it got Cam twisted
When Mikey gon' get that butter or them damn biscuits?
Mother still getting high, she so damn gifted
Like she got no legs though, she can't kick it

We can't kick it, my man dig it, I Van Wick it
Wicked wiggle, the man wicked, rap was Cam's ticket
But it backfired, air in the back tires
Get ready for crack buyers, rap liars and trap wires

Thinking I'm awry, we thinking I'm raunchy
Watch "Menace II Society", think about Chauncey
The snitch factor, now it's a big factor
Shit, life's a bitch watch ya shit for you pitch after

Get dada, Michelle home from school, her man Rich slapped her
Kitch scratched her, shot in the air, yeah, kids scattered
'Cause she joined a fraternity, the bitch "Kappa"
He ain't like it, kidnapped her, in the hood, bitch cracker

Now, Rich not, she could of met a rich cracker
She get high, worked at McDees, they big mac'ed her
They'll train the fighters, Titus gained arthritis
Cops they train the buyers, we the cleanest can't indict us

He beat them cases up like Mike Tyson '86
That's why it's like I got a license for these 80 bricks
Crib, tried to raid the shit, agents on some hater shit
60k to rob the kid, them cases never made 'em stick

Yo, I can promise this, you dealing with a Communist
That'll pull the trigger on any nigga who bomb a bitch
My accomplices, they remain anonymous
And they gon stay there, I swear, I'm what honest is

Honestly you thought I quit like Tom Donnovich
Conglomerate, treat you like Ramadan honor it
Y'all won't eat, I'm unloading a lobster and pasta
Y'all imposters, imposing my posture, I gotcha

Mobsters with choppers, enough "dado"
Chicks duct tape 'em, turn 'em over butt rape 'em
Grams cut, shave 'em, Cam hair cut, shave it
But bust on her hushes, like a lush Wes Craven

That's the hustle, I'm old school, you must page 'em
Whatever love hate 'em, won't do, touch, play 'em
Degrade 'em? talk slick, fuck it your all sick
Lay you in dog shit, look over you, hork spit

Beef on Bobby block, right where his homeys walk
Homey we make bodies drop, then skate like Tony Hawk
Over short paper, play a O for very long
"Fourth of July", M80's, cherry bombs

They'll disguise the slugs
Sent his friends for them ends, they had 'em like the Benz
His eyes was bugged, watch the don poke you
But for 4500, I will John Doe you, ya moms won't know you, killa

Songwriters
ROBEY, DON / GILES, CAMERON

Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, DOWNTOWN MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC

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