(first degree):
Shit done changed, the strip got bigger
To make my ends I got the wheel and the trigger
I get my swerve on with the 80 p liquor
The liquor bring out the nigga in this nigga
Got me huntin with my musket, barred down with substance
Bringin my ruckus to the rival fuckas in rival clusters
Im still givin birth to perfect joints, I keep it steady
Still mixin up with skeet sours, I like them heavy
Heavyll put a little bass in your voice
Yamps choice, no rolls royce but I keep it moist
I keep it saucy, ya bossy bitch talkin that costly shit
Bossy bitch think she too flossy to trip
Im first muthafuckin degree, not your average,
Ill have your boulevard hoppin
Poppin off when a baller pack a package of suckin
Fuck you fuckin up duck, stuck like chuck, now, now getcha dome in the trunk
As we donut, I dump, I seen too many moons, took the minds of too many bufoons
Fools with no clues that love to watch my aura glisten,
They still dont listen
I...i got pot thats hot to trot, cant stop, wont stop
I got lynch hung in my backseat sniffin for cops
I receipts of tweed purchase, medical purpose, write off at text time
So yall go home, light the smoke, its relax time
Chorus:
Now I apologize for smoke on my mind
I been workin hard and I got to unwind
About the j.o.a. stayin in my brain
But Im seconds away from goin insane
Now I need to lift away
(lynch):
Now you niggas know I come sick like a lunatic
Man, they must be high cuz they really dont know who they fuckin with
I used to have them all bombed out
Drink alize wine, then rhyme and smoke tweeds till we dropped out
I got the chop out, no doubt,
Cuz if it aint about rappin, gunplays gon happen
Cuz Im tappin at yo window, off that indo, more sacs than santana
Better check your antenna on your radio or your stereo or your video
Cuz Im not that pretty, but in the bedroom Im critical
You got your chance, now use
Hit you with the loaded album, coutesty of siccmade music
Evidently you got something against me
Dont you tempt me, minty smells of the 20 sac of indo, killafornias best
Player haters die a slow death, slow death
Chorus
(ice-t):
I dont wear no chuck taylors and dont sag my pants
But I still lift the switch and make this 64 dance
More niggas with me now than I had in the hood
And they down for whatever and thats all to the good
Wish you would test my technique and heart, nigga what?
Nigga, fuck that, bitch nigga what? baby, duck!
What you wanna do now, ya bleedin from the floor
Nigga wanted beef, now he wants beef no more
Thats how Im coming 9-6, bitch, rich and mad
Hoes in bikinis, rag lambroginis, overseer runnin mad streets
Creepers with beepers and stash spots for glocks
And under car escobar style, buck wild, you been there, you know the terrain
Niggas go insane, tryin to get the green
Im just surviving on the streets with my peeps
And Im livin for the day I catch a punk on the creep, yeah
Chorus
