Never Leave The Pad Lyrics

[Verse 1: ?]
Down in Houston, we ain't scared of no f*ckin' police
I dropped my 40 cause my hands full of chicken grease
I'm talking shit cause I cracked my [?] up
(Beuu!) Aw, shit, there go the motherf*ckin' Oilers
I turn in Texaco faking like I want some gas
They pass by faking like they don't see my ass
Aw shit, B, I'ma start chillin'-the
Rest of the night, Flea, pass me my cylinder
[Five per square?] because I'm rolling six deep
Two niggers high, two niggers drunk, and one asleep
Rolled down the window let the breeze come in slow
The car scrapes the ground cause it's packed full of niggers, ho
Here come the laws, I'm in shit now
Everybody sitting up straight, looking real tall
And if they stop us my name is Bobby Joe Snicket
Why, cause I didn't pay my motherf*cking tickets
Here comes the laws, hold your 40, don't go spilling it
I was sitting low, just [?] killing it
The laws tried stopping us, buckshots popping 'em
Fire up another joint, hit them with these hollow points
Make sure they feel the heat, turn them into bloody meat
I ran my car in a telephone poll and rolled down these dark-ass streets
Took off my hat and shirt, took off my watch and ring
So I wouldn't get whooped and left bloody like Rodney King
Left my [shoe?] in a bayou and my heat in a dog house
Drunk some water out of his pot, suffering from cotton mouth
Here comes a chopper, you think that I give a f*ck?
All I hear is the propellers (ft-ft-ft-ft) sucking wind up
[Hook]
("Boy you shoulda known by now
Never leave the pad without packing a gun")

[Verse 2: ?]
[HPDA6?]
Never giving rest to my motherf*cking dick
[?] my chest
Cause I wanna have [?] when I take my last breath
Five years deep into the game I am
So pound me if you wanna score [?] 28 inch rims
[?]
[?] me
p*ssy, money, cars, and gold chains
[?]
Smoking that motherf*cking weed and drinking brew
Staying f*cked up when there ain't nothing to do
[?] on Rolex and get your ass paid
[?] f*ck around and see a grave
Take it from a nigga that take it from the streets [?] and pack a gun, fool

[Hook]
("Boy you shoulda known by now
Never leave the pad without packing a gun")
("Because you might get shot")
[Verse 3: Lil' Flea]
I'm in the crib with a spliff and my feet on the couch, G
Cop is at the door with a warrant for Lil' Flea
Broke out the back cause they trying to cage me
Better bring my 9 cause they might wanna [?] me
Hear come the pig with a pistol and blue suit
Call them Houston Oilers cause they like to play run and shoot
Make sure my Nikes are tight, ready to bust a right
No love for a copper's life, and make the pig pay the price
Now he's running at me trying to empty his clip
Dropped him cause I popped him with a slug in his hip
Caught my shoelace on a gate trying to hit the [?]
Entrance to the chest, leaving [all us to ride the dish?]
And take him out on a stretcher
Tell him either freeze bitch please Flea or holler at [?]
[?] watch me run
But I'm never slipping motherf*cker cause I'm packing my motherf*cking gun

[Hook]
("Boy you shoulda known by now
Never leave the pad without packing a gun")

[Verse 4: ?]
I don't give a f*ck about a cop
Hey bitch don't even stop, unless you want that wig into a dreadlock
Pack my shit cause I ain'ts to be caught slippin'
Waiting for a nigga to scratch when he thinks I'm itchin'
So I can drill a f*cking hole in his chest
He thinks I'm weak and all that, he's about to f*ck up and meet his death
So many niggers get took like a bitch
Don't want to pack they shit, now they floating in they own piss
Cops are in this war, but they ain't losin'
[?] and never get caught in prosecution
In the ghetto, I'm known to pack my heat
And find a nigga buried [?] the concrete
A drug deal gone left
When they digged him out the scene he had three slugs in his f*ckin' chest
That'll let you know from [?] son
Never leave your pad without packing your motherf*cking gun
[Hook]
("Boy you shoulda known by now
Never leave the pad without packing a gun")

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