Chorus(Lynch and D-Dubb)4x
I re-fuse to lose
Fuck them 22`s
I got an AP 10 and a throwaway Tech 9
So you know you can`t fuck with mine
(Verse1)
(Lynch)
If I was standing in the dark letting my nine spark
(D-Dub)
Maybe in the morning, motherfuckers might feel me yet
(Lynch)
It`s that nine tech nigga that got them motherfuckers tore up
As I smash of in a seven deuce cut, you holding your gut
Talking about
(D-Dub and Lynch)
What the fuck you smoking on?
(Lynch)
All dome as the chronics got me gone
Nigga it`s on
On `til the slugs come out
(D-Dub)
At night I do my murder red rum so tight
(Lynch)
I`ts the third strike nigga
So now I`m aiming up at your dome
`Bout to make your brain split and hit the Fleetwood Brome
I`m like Richard Chase, mixed with Al Capone
If you want some ripgut shit nigga
Yeah, I got it sewn
So bone to the crib, or get your wig split fool, with the tech chrome
And say the alphabet backwards fast or find you a brand new dome
A criminal minded nigga that gots tefs in his nine
So head to the East side, `cause it`s red rum time, nigga
Chorus 4x
(Verse2)
Nigga, it`s that-Sac of Indo-Killafornia State of mind
Where niggas put their gangster gear on, and bend corners
In a Chev 69
Wire rims
You can`t see
With their neighborhood flags and their black Carthart beenie
I`m like Genie
As I swoop through the hood and get up to no good
And I wish you would
Test my tech, `cause nigga, it loves to take out necks
And empty backs out, so I max out
350 on the black top
More smoke than chronic smoking
Loced out sherm, classic perm
In my ashtray, there`s always a roach
Hit the left lane in case one times approach
I got, 5 warrants and some `89 tags
17 in the clip of my, auto mag
I`ts sad
I gotta watch my back, `cause these niggas wanna throw me up in a black
leather sack, and throw me over their back
But fuck that
Why you think I got extended clips
`Cause I`m so high, most of the time
I just can`t miss, nigga
Chorus 4x
