Juvenile - 400 Degreez Lyrics

(Robotic Voice) : 400 degreez

Verse 1:
Ya see me, I eat, sleep, shit, and talk rap
Ya seen that '98 mercedes on TV? -I bought that
I had some felony charges I fought that
Been sent to no return but still was brought back
Nigga threw some slangs at me woodie I caught that
I punished them lil bitches before they could call "Jack"
Now I'm lookin for they family and padnahs to war back
If I aint a hot-boy then what do you call that?
Nigga disrespect me Imma be in all black
Accompanied by some niggas bout killin' and all that
(Me, Cory and Mussy)-? gettin' dunked dog
Ridin' top down so we like the trucks parked
In the jeep ridin' four deep
I booted up at these nigga claimin' they know me

[Chorus] (Robotic Voice)
You don't want to fuck wit me
Hot, Hot, Hot Boyz
Hot, Hot, Hot Boyz (repeat 2x)

Verse 2

Bitch what, I'll bust ya ass up
Don't even go there woodie cuz I'm ready to mass up
I heard about the money, thats some nice change
For the right price I'll bust the right brain
Long as a nigga try, I can do the right thing
Only God knows what the future might bring
Nigga might be shaip, nigga might be triffling
Nigga might survive if he bout that right fling
Wit somethin that'll stop a nigga from playin'
Somethin like a chopper or a grenade in his hand (hand)
Boy look, nigga don't play no games no mo
Nigga'll bust ya head if you bang his hoe
Attitude adjustments what they all need
Don't call up no enforcements, nigga call me (me-me)
I bet cha I'll get them niggas off yo block
I bet cha I'll show them niggas this boy hot

(Chorus)

Alright stop it, cuz I done had enough
When it comes to my pockets, I'm ready to bust
Baby let me get the keys to the Rover truck
Man let me get this beef shit over brah
Aint no bitches here, I'm from the 'nolia brah
Bust ya beef head, is what was told to us
How Imma be runnin' with these killas and backin' down
How Imma look in front of my people -like a clown
The G code -what we live by and we die by
The book is what we never will abide by
Niggas drive by, gettin loose
Keep 'em wit each other like a checker board and "Clues"
Up in Compton, or the Watts nigga
Or up in New York, ya keep 'em open -watch nigga
Before ya played by a fatal retalion
All fine young black females stallions
Give me the keys to ya car and ya medallion
You far away from ya home yous a alien

(Chorus)
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