# a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z

Versuri 13 years
- Mystikal

19 nigga 7, bitch what4s happenin?
Chorus:
Thirteen muthaf***n years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid a*s
so bad you ain4t no challenge.
Thirteen muthaf***n years!
This ain4t no fluke, this pure deep talent.
Thirteen muthaf***n years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid a*s
so bad you ain4t no challenge.
Thirteen muthaf***n years!
[Verse 1]
Bow, when I hold the microphone and hold it
Keepin me rappin until I hoarse and swollen
Thirteen years and rollin
I rate colder than coldest
Gettin part of this, niggas don4t want no more of this
Never leave you alone in your life, nigga I4m selectin and sellin rhymes
Slap a nigga that style sound some like mine
Mad enough you screamin ""It AIN4T! ""
(This line whispered, can4t hear)
You be p***n me off some the time, take you down one at a time
I4ma be known for f***n over your whole album
Who want my rhyme?
Keep decling, I4ma keep climbing
Keep duckin, I4ma keep buckin
Keepin heat seekin rhymes comin to get you bitches off me
Disrespectors cow sled, (.?.)
Hard to break, if it comes that way
It took me thirteen muthaf***n years just to make a tape
But that don4t mean that my rhymes one of the strongest
All I know I been tryin to make it for the f***n longest
F***k the side of all this, long as you done it
When I done it, gettin blunted bout to run this bitch
Takin them riders down with me, clown with me
Leave thirteen in your muthaf***n chest and you can count em
Chorus
[Verse 2]
Nigga go pa*s the vibe, dividin mad this year
Creative catastrophy, leave MCs in closed caskets
Hit ya like full metal jackets, cut like hatchets
Tight as ratchets, and burn like matches
Thick than amino acids, flip like gymnastics, nasty as a p***y mattress
Droppin like the temperature in December
Clippin em, tippin em, been writin raps far back as I can remember
Fulla them rocks, everybody move key

It was ghetto Djs and sucka MCs
Handle your buisness in this industry of competition
Or be at F. W. Bulls washin dishes
Bitch I was born to write million dollar rhymes
Battle in the hallways of Cohen back in 85
86, 87, 88, hooked up with Big Boy records and made my first demo tape
We dropped some real s***t in the basement
I had big ol4 nigga tracks, raps like pavement
To come from New Orleans made it hard to surface
That4s when I got discouraged and joined the service
P***d of and I (?) before long
I went to war and served federal time before I made it back home
No more rips in my jeans and gettin my cream
Ain4t s***t unlucky about my number thirteen
Chorus
[Verse 3]
I hit the bitch like BOSH! Owwwwww!
Never gon bounce could rap and doin time before I bow
How in the f***k you like me right now
Told your a*s she had said I4d be on top of the pile
Cause my rap style is my hustle
I shot niggas up like Muslims
With the flex like muscle
Use a, pretty delievery cause it4s most important
I form a style sharp enough to cut straight through the bones
I came from my welts, gave up my belt
I got off from Big Boy records to put my single on the shelf, now
Do I do it? F***kin right I did it
Shoulda seen the little chir4en in the street singin I4m Not That Nigga
Size ain4t nothin nigga, I4m short
Shockin nigga, raah!
They gave me five hundred dollars, s***t I quit both of my jobs
F***k em, got some other s***t to do from nine to five
My birthday came, and my sister died
But next year, Mystikal signed a half a million dollar deal with Jive
This s***t thats tragic can4t be no more
Because of my rings I work at A&P no more
I drive my landcruiser off the show floor
Got the time to time to feel pain, sittin on Volvos
Comin with scheme, up in my dream
Who4d a ever thought I4d be a No Limit soldier
by the end of that thirteen
Thirteen manic muthf***n years!