Dirty Work Lyrics

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Dirty Work Lyrics

by Z-Ro

f/ Black Mike, Pharoah



(Z-Ro talking)

All you sure ass niggas out here, got the game fucked up

All this old friendly ass shit, nigga

Ain't nothing friendly about the motherfucking game

You understand me, if you listen I'ma tell you right

Open your motherfucking ears

Shit, it ain't fair but somebody got to do it, knowI'msaying



[Black Mike]

I came from underground, where my hood resigned

Nothing left but the bad and ugly cause the good done died

We tried laying low niggas want to cross them lines

So when I'm saying so you getting bumped off this time

Fuck a throw away, I'm looking for the gun in your house

To kill your family for some shit they ain't know nothing about

We running the south, while other niggas running they mouth

If you smart, you'll take cover cause we come in your route

Cause when we ride you could best believe there's guns in sight

How many times mama cried cause her sons done died

I pull my nine out, all of my barrels are fouled out

So the bullets that I bust the feds don't find out

Which gun, which nigga, which figga points to the trigger man

Still well connected not worried about who's the bigger man

Z-Ro, my nigga man, Pharoah, the Killa Klan

I'm Black Mike, Network for life, ain't no realer jam



(Chorus)

We make sure the dirty work get done

Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton

Scratch makers, nigga we killers

Aggravated guerillas, been pimping in this bicth for scrilla

We make sure the dirty work get done

Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton

Scratch makers, nigga we killers

Putting heads on pillows

Fuck around and weep like a willow, we cap peelers



[Pharoah]

King shots, killer greed penn, money hard

Nigga to sleep, murdering a kingpin

My composer, a soldier, you can call me one

When it's time to ride you know I'm ready to activate my gun

Straight head shots, toe tagged in a body bag

And the outcome you stuck with, if I got to blast

I'm coming to get you, pull your punk ass out the picture

And fix the braids on your head, that means I'ma get richer

P-H-A-R-O-A-H, now you know

My motherfucking name I never play fake

Easy does it, do it easy when I execute

To that nigga and the darkside when my weapon shoot

Shoot again and feel like I just made boy

With no evidence, to be found I remain calm

Murdering edition, I make a motherfucker disappear

Slip the clip in, open fire then dripping him



(Chorus)



[Z-Ro]

I put stitches in the general son of a bitch nigga when he bump up

Running to the trunk for the pump, I'm already ready to dump

I've been working dirty, knocking busters for being surety

So I'm at your dome cussing like James, you ain't worthy

Like a little old girly perpetrating a man

Dude we taking over this bitch and here to demonstrate demands

And bitch the down south gangsta R-A-P, 1990

Started with Street Military and K-A-G

We toe tagging, body bagging, sagging and bragging

Weed it up inflate it down, you damn shot and flipped the meat wagon

So save me some son of a guns, when it's over

We one of the ones on the top, haters smell it and running to come

Trying to drop a dime on us, or trying to take us out

After we deal with it we rap about it and then it make us hot

Fuck your crime rate and murder rate, running up on Houston Texas

Well it be fuck y'all for trying to funk us on a burning day



(Chorus - 2x)