Don’t Stop, Grill Em – Cam’Ron – letras

[Intro: Cam’Ron]THIS IS A REMIXJ.R WRITER…FEATURING HELL RELL, AND MYSELF… KILLA!WE ABOUT TO LET Y’ALL MOTHERFUCKERS KNOW WHY WE RUN THE WORLD…..YA DIIIIIG?[Bridge: JR Writer]This that get ’em soundThis that get it downThis that 2 step, wheel shaker, spin aroundThis that pick a clown, size him up, try ya luckPlaya hate, grill him down…lemme see you twist ya frown[Cam’RonKILLA!They got guns, well maybe they’ll squeeze / (maybe they’ll squeeze)I’m a piano I got 88 keys (88 keys)Mami sniffed it, it went to baby brain (wooo)Road the subway now I’m on the gravy train (aiiiiii!)What you call balling, all y’all boringKnock his teeth on the grill, « Paul Wall foreman »All these pricks, I took weed trips »Tore the club up », yep, on that 3 6 (Three Six Mafia)I’m the realest of cats, and I’m still where it’s atI been broke with the South, trill to the trapStealing, wheeling caps I been peeling them back (back)We dealing you squealing, we killing the rats (rats!)Santana…..KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM, KILL EM!J.R…GRILL EM GRILL EM GRILL EM, GRILL EM!I will pop you while I’m popping a pop-a-wheelPaid In Full not the deal…put him in Potter’s Field[Hook: JR Writer]DON’T STOP, GRILL EM!DON’T STOP, GRILL EM!DON’T STOP, GRILL EM!DON’T STOP, GRILL EM!DON’T STOP, GRILL EM, GRILL EM, GRILL EM, GRILL EM, GRILL EMDON’T STOP, GRILL EM![Hell Rell]Mr. Ruger picture a coward confronting meNature’s mad because the trunk is in the front of me / (foreign)Gangsta’s on In the back of me, hammer on the hip of meHand full of piffery, damn I know they sick of meThey gon’ say the boy’s the hardest this yearAnd I’m a G so, I’ma eat regardless this yearCome to the crib, yeah it’s retarded in thereBig screens, suede couches, bunch of marble in thereDamn, undercover hating, shit just let it outAnd why ya hair done ma, all you gon’ do is sweat it outGo through any nigga town and Dipset it outShit they’d rather set him up then just set him outMake these nigga’s bleed, make ’em blood donorsAnd they don’t wanna let me in, smack the club ownerGot shades on, I’m always high bitchYou looking at a star, I ain’t even in the sky bitch[Hook][Bridge: JR Writer]This that get ’em soundThis that get it downThis that 2 step, wheel shaker, spin around[J.R Writer]The sporty is foreign, shorty’s adoring (all day)Fuck if the couches are suede, my Mauries are on ’em (fuck it)I’m fresh head to toe check how bad the don blingA thousand grams, chain got a Barry Bonds swing (bling!)I get her with the swag, then get ’em with the Jag (errrr!)What’s on my left sleeve is what get ’em to the padThem chickens in a bag, you ain’t fresh in my eyesI ain’t doing nothing to her but she’s letting me slideFrom the floor to the bathroom, hall to the backroomThen dog out the whore, on his balls like a vacuumMack ’em and duck to the back of the busShe’s a scraggler and yup, she ain’t wack but she sucksIf you act like a scrap then in back is a truck (with what?)Where they packing a Mac with some caps for you smucksHuh, I can’t stand to slouch, you know what fam’s aboutShe ask to see my grill so I pulled the Phantom out (look at this grill)[Hook][Outro: JR Writer]This that get ’em soundThis that get it downThis that 2 step, wheel shaker, spin aroundThis that pick a clown, size him up, try ya luckPlaya hate, grill him down… lemme see you twist ya frown