Bone Thugs-N-Harmony Bone Thugz N Harmony-Shots To The Double Glock Lyrics

All:
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, killa.

Tony Tone:
If you're down to glide and slide on the Clair, then let's ride. Tony Tone roll with Bone on the darkside, but when you come
just bring your guns with ya. If your a busta n____s gon' have fun with ya. So, n____, don't get me wrong, my n____s swang
them thangs, bang some brains, slangin' llello. It all remains the same.

Wish:
Step and you're catchin' some buckshots. Murder one on the Clair-nine-glock-glock. Mo Thug, what's up? n____, get drug,
put 'em in the mud, pop and I can't stop, now. n____s that I thug with kill. Pop to the chest. How does it feel? And n____ we
peel caps. Pap. Fin to get your wig cracked back. Killin', I'm buckin' 'em down. I wish ya would try to get some redrum,
b____. n____, don't test my hood.

Tombstone:
A first degree murderin' wig splitter, gravedigger diggin' a ditch, puttin' a b____ and them snitches in the pit, so don't f___ with
them n____s off the nine-nine--the foundation of n____s committin' the crime and murderin' every time. n____s beware, 'cause
here come the Clair mobbin' like some soldiers. Watch me fold ya for actin' like somebody never told ya. So off we go, to the
b_____ road, time to bless some souls, with that nine shot, givin' props to the double glock.

Flesh:
Pump, pump, when I let my shells down. Hit a lick, now gimme the goodies, and n____ me dash. I reach for the gauge and
mash, yell out "one-eighty-seven" and blast. n____, don't test nuts. Your luck's f___ed. Your feelin' wrath of the Boneyard,
thuggin' off with the Graveyard Shift, then comin' up for your ho card, b____. Scandalous n____s dwell in the Clair, be servin'
them chop chops. We rippin' them guts with buckshots, pop, pop. Me give up shots out to the glock-glock.

Krayzie:
You better believe that we runnin' this thug style: Krayzie, Layzie, Bizzy, Flesh, Wish, them wicked, now. We straight off the
glock-glock. Run up, get your wig split now. East 99 follow me down to me street, buck, we thug on the darkside. Better
have your pop, n____s be trippin' and flippin' as soon they get high. One-eighty-seven, you're caught in a murder. n____s up to
no good. Po-po. f___ no. They never could f___ with a thug-ho.

Pop, pop, givin' up shots to the double-glock, glock.

Mo! Hart:
Nothin' but them killas, straight up thuggas, rippin' bucks of lead, and (Clair thugs) gaugin' pump eruptions, nickel trip and shut
and f___ 'em down, buckin' them coppers down, round after round after round. b_____ bodies, badges spreaded on the
ground. Ain't no sound, just the demons screamin', "Rest in peace. I guess you got to suffer." Ready to dip, hollow point tip,
got your wig split, and made your body rupture, hunt my victims on a mission, flippin', livin' on a darker side, creepin' on your
homicide. Let my nuts and my gauge hang low. Now, walk on by.

All:
[Boogy Nikke on the mic, right.]

Boogy Nikke:
Thuggin' through my thuggish-a__ hood at night with my pipe. Thuggin' down the double-glock, tryin' to get my serve on,
watchin' my back while six-five try to roll on. But one to the sucka's head, and two up in his body. Now peep my creep. I
keep the reefer smoke all up inside me.

Layzie:
We jumpin' up out from the hood. We bailin'. We thuggin'. We lookin' like crooks. The terror be fatal, ready to roll, now we
willing and able, rollin' with Ruthless, b____, better check my label. Murdered them, never come again where the scandalous
n____s settle. b_____ n____, trues be on my level. Eighty-eight through the ten-five is the soldiers' ghetto. n____, don't take the
wrong turn; you will enter the hood, and we're splitters so cover your dome, out the cut, where the thugs and hustlas roam.
Cleveland Browns, the Dawg Pound home, it's on.

Sin:
Never get in the mix of a Clair player; you're liable to get your wig split and dumped in a ditch, b____, 'cause them thugs sendin'
them slugs, leavin' 'em off in the cut in a puddle of blood, say what? Don't make me go in my trench. n____, ya got me bent,
all f___ed up. Your luck's up. Now you gotta get sent to your gravesite as John Doe for f___in' with those...

Gates:
It's them thugs runnin' amuck all night, but a slug up in you. The territory never divide, go nationwide with the buck, buck. So
where you at? Where you at? I'm strapped and ready to snap and yank a n____'s neck back. Split them (Kool-Aid) hats.
Into the graveyard, but prepare to get (drugged up on the Clair to tear a round) 'fore somebody gets stuck. You still won't
want some, b____, but what the m____fuck? I wanna one to whammy with a TEC-9. Now, b____, press your luck.