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You Don't Hear Me Doe


You Don't Hear Me Doe Lyrics

(feat. DMG)

Call me psychotive but I'm bad, nigga yo!
And I'ma do ya bad, black
And when I come, I'm bustin up niggas to hear me, black
Ya should of never let a nigga see
if there was niggas and bitches and bitches and niggas that hated me
Huh, I waited for my date to come-of-age
and now I'm of-age I can't escape the f*ckin front page
So I guess that nigga D is up to hit again
I kicks the funky shit and coke, and stupid like I'm Gilligan
I'm P, supposed to hit a lick for a jack
The only thing I gained is the pain of niggas comin back
Nigga lookin for they shit, aggravated and pissed
Niggas they can't f*ck with my clique
I'm here to break em off for chunk
A D-E-A-T-H-L-Y, a motherf*ckin punk
And I be rollin with the brass
Don't answer with the ziggers in your hood, he break your neck to roll a
pass, nigga
Don't even stop to say 'Whattup?' cos I bust for the f*ck
And pay some quick to light a motherf*cker up
Next time you stop me on your block, I hope you leave the place
or be the next to meet the Lord face-to-face
Nigga, I ain't the one to take no bullshit
Cos see a nigga like the D is game to empty out the full clip
So when I come for ya, act like ya know
Sittin motherf*ckin smooth to the curb but you don't hear do'


I'ma bring ya to ya asshole (uh)
Do it like the G-to-O (yeah)
Bustin on that ass but still I see that you don't hear me do'
(But you don't hear me do')
Bring ya to ya asshole (uh)
Do it like the G-to-O (yeah)
Bustin on that ass but still I see that you don't hear me do'

It's time to f*ck em up, here it comes, BLAST, nigga!
Thump to your chest and they comin out your ass, nigga
I grew apart, livin my life as a criminal
Niggas G to kill but still I see that you don't hear me do'
So I'ma serve it to ya fat, hit the deck, mate
Hit the deck mate, call me Flipper when I checkmate
D-um divertin nine, Tre-9, full Glock, Glock
My Glock makin sounds and it don't stop
So nigga pass the swisha quick
and I'ma blaze til the motherf*cker burn me off my fingertips
Cos, see a nigga gotta saty high
I try to smoke til I can't smoke and then I won't smoke
But still I got my fingers on my shit
and click, click, click, ya die, die, die, ya dead, bitch!
You tried to test the wrong nigga, be a tested
Straight from St.Paul but clockin G's down in Texas
Some think I'm talk cos I play it cool
but I ain't the average motherf*cker, I do the shit that niggas won't do
Huh, like pistol whip a woodie for his bank
Then after that I gate and grab his bitch and do the same thang
And I will pain up the asshole
Collectin grips on my drips as I stroll but you don't hear me do'


Ain't no mistakin what I'm bringin, you motherf*ckers still ain't had
So I'ma continue to break you off for proper ass chunk
May it be 9, may it be a gauge, may it be a shank
Any way you come I'm in your motherf*ckin shit, mate!
Huh, a nigga bustin caps, smokin fires
quick to bring it to your ass and keep on goin til your ass die
And it ain't no runnin down dem backstreets
cos I got slugs to catch em with Carl Lewis on the track meet
Huh, and still you wanna test a nigga so
Audi 5, nigga, hate to see ya go but you don't hear me do'


Yeah, check it!

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Songwriter(s): Devongelo Jones, Tony Randall, Joseph Johnson
Record Label(s): 2010 Virgin Records America, Inc All rights reserved Unauthorized reproduction is a violation of applicable laws Manufactured by Virgin Records A
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