Lyrics Brotha Lynch Hung – 31 Summers
Text:
Mm-hmm
Yeah (Uh)
I was born in the summer
I been here every summer
I tell ’em, «Grind for thirty-one summers
Spit and shine for thirty-one summers
Grit and grind for thirty-one summers» (Yeah)
When they ask me how to come up (Grr)
I tell ’em, «Die for thirty-one summers»
Niggas don’t wanna get it, I’m harder then penetentiary steel
For my niggas locked down in the penetentiary still
I wasn’t meant to be killed, I was mentally ill
I needed medicine, your head’ll get injured, it will
Better yet, Excederin, murder, et cetera
You fuckin’ with a psycho, nigga, you better run
Pray before I put you in the grave most likely
You met a lot of rappers? Well, none of ’em like me
Ripped the rap game sorta like Ice-T
One little chain, I don’t need to be icy
Oh, I see, y’all niggas wanna get cut up
Really wanted to nut-up, brains dipped in butter
Guts in the gutter, my nigga, I’m that vicious (Vicious)
Put me in a circle of rappers, I handle business (I handle business)
Scandalousness, nigga, what up?
Niggas’ll die for thirty-one summers (Nigga)
I was born in the summer
I been here every summer
And when they ask me how to come up
I tell ’em, «Grind for thirty-one summers (Grr)
Grit and grind for thirty-one summers» (Yeah)
When they ask me how to come up
I tell ’em, «Die for thirty-one summers» (Yeah)
Shittin’ on you niggas like diarrhea, don’t try and see him
I’m busy eatin’ up human beings and you can see it
You could be it, that nigga that nigga you see me eatin’
Hop in a circle and I’ll chop you up to little meatlets
Yes, grr, gun in the dresser, my pleasure
Human meat in a crock pot, that’s my treasure
Put the seasonin’ salt, I don’t have to measure
Get your fuckin’ hands out the pot, nigga, you better
I’m a genius at makin’ em eat red meat
Knee-deep in it, for each ten-inch, you’ll get a heat lift
Facelift, I’m Jason, put a leak in it
A lot of blood on the ground and you gon’ sleep in it
All niggas is dyin’ before he finish
Rip the guts out of niggas before I replenish
Who’s next? Give ’em a suplex
Take over his duplex and give her the new sex
Grr
Motherfucker
Gon’ light me a cigarette
Where my fuckin’ lighter at?
Yeah, nigga
I was born in the summer
I been here every summer
And when they ask me how to come up
I tell ’em, «Grind for thirty-one summers (Grr)
Spit and shine for thirty-one summers
Grit and grind for thirty-one summers» (Yeah)
When they ask me how to come up (Grr)
I tell ’em, «Die for thirty-one summers» (Yeah)
Kevlar, nigga
Grr
