All
[Ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh--killa, 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 wit `cha. If you`re a busta niggas goin` have fun wit `cha. So, nigga, don`t get me wrong, my niggas 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? Nigga, get drunk, put `em in the mud, pop and I can`t stop now. Niggas that I thug with kill. Pop to the chest. How does it feel? And nigga we peel caps—pap! Fin` to get your wig cracked back. Killin`, I`m buckin` `em down. I wish you would try to get some redrum, bitch! Nigga, don`t test my hood.
Tombstone
A first degree murderin` wig splitter, gravedigger diggin` a ditch. Puttin` a bitch and them snitches in the pit. So don`t fuck with them niggas off the nine-nine. The foundation of niggas committin` the crime and murderin` every time. Niggas beware, `cause here come the Clair mobbin` like some soldiers. Watch me fold you for actin` like somebody never told you. So off we go to the bloody road. Time to bless some souls with that nine shot, givin` props to the glock-glock.
Flesh
Pump-dump, when I let my shells down. Hit a lick, now gimme the goodies, and nigga me dash. I reach for the gauge and mash, yell out "one-eighty-seven" and blast. Nigga, don`t test nuts. Your luck`s fucked. Your feelin` the wrath of the Boneyard. Thuggin` off with the Graveyard Shift then comin` up for your ho card, bitch. Scandalous niggas 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, niggas be trippin` and flippin` as soon they get high. One-eighty-seven, you`re caught in a murder. Niggas up to no good. Po-po. Fuck no! They never could fuck with a thug-ho.
All [Krayzie]
Pop-pop, [Ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh—killa.] givin` up shots to the double-glock, glock [*4]
Mo! Hart
Nothin` but them killas, straight up thuggas, rippin` bucks on bloody clothes. Thugs gaugin` pump eruptions, nigga trippin` shot and fuck `em down, buckin` them coppers down, round after round after round. Bloody bodies, badges spreaded on the ground. Ain`t no sound, just the demon 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-ass 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 off of the hood. We bailin`. We thugs and we lookin` like crooks. The terror be fatal. Ready to roll, now we willing and able. Rollin` with Ruthless—Bitch! Better check my label. Murdered them (them), never come again where the scandalous niggas settle. Bloody nigga, trues be on my level. Eighty through the ten-five is the soldiers` ghetto. Nigga, 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, bitch! `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. Nigga, you got me bent, all fucked up. Your luck`s up. Now y`all done get sent to your gravesite as John Doe for fuckin` with those...
Gates
It`s them thugs runnin` amuck all night, but a slug up in you. The dummy thought we`d 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 nigga`s neck back. Split a Kool-Aid hat. Into the graveyard, but prepare to get drugged up on the Clair to tear a round `fore somebody gets struck. You still won`t want some bitch, and what the muthafuck I want? I want to wham you with a Tec-9. Now bitch, press your luck!
All [Krayzie]
Pop-pop, [Ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh—killa.] givin` up shots to the double-glock, glock [*16]
