* send corrections to the typist
Shit is crazy.. can`t believe it
Ha, haha, oooh, shit
We don`t give a fuck about you frostin` ya hand (fuck),
cause knockin` off these bricks then often yo` man
That`s the kinda boss that I am (why not),
and I`ma play shotgun, smoke the pores make a van
Hollarin` at you so deep and so sick wit` the guns
When I walk by the wake I want the cough in the stand (stand up)
So hold up for one minute (what)
You won`t catch me in the tub, in the whip,
or the club without a gun in it,
and don`t come through the strip,
lookin` hard in the car, with ya motherfuckin` daughter and ya son in it
Lately I been missin` my fred, the roof pop (too hot),
but feel me cause he hittin` the stairs, the truth pop
Niggaz think this album cuts (haha!)
I`m like fuck it, I`m the nigga comin through the door wit two revolvers up (two `em),
and I`m takin` all drama,
and I spent twenty thou` motherfucker so I just got more problems
[Chorus]
You got`sta bust yo` gun,
cause if you don`t then niggaz know you won`t they gon` touch yo` ones
Got`sta bend yo` knife,
cause if you don`t then niggaz know you won`t they gon` change yo` life
Aiyyo, who gotta my name huh?
Who think it`s a fuckin` game (c`mon)
Like yo` money can`t be found under the cane (y`know)
Like yo` body can`t be found under the trains
Like this punk we`ll shatter apart your brain (bla!)
I`ma thug wit` no scars, and no braids,
but I could aim, and shoot through the heart or your shades
I`m too row, plus too quick on the gat (uh-huh)
Hate water, but I leave you wit` a wills play-back
I don`t give a fuck if all y`all go to the cops,
and I don`t give a fuck if none of y`all gimmie my props
I got shit in my name and my credit is worse
What`s to stop me from shootin` you first? FUCK YOU! (haha)
I`m like tattoos, you forget that I`m there (uh-huh)
To the gun fire perm your hair
Miss you, and go strait through your moms rockin` chair,
through her back and it ain`t stopin` there!
[Chorus] - 2X
Bounce my niggaz.. c`mon
Sheek and S.P., rock, rock on (c`mon)
Bust shots `til your glock can`t pop no more (hahaha)
Let it down `til your top can`t drop no more (uh-huh)
Hit you up `til your spirit where the Eagles fly (c`mon)
Talk to me, if you really come back then you`ll die (c`mon)
Make me believe, no shirt but still got some shit up my sleeve
No asthma, makin` it hard to breathe
Let`s go, aiyyo Styles take this motherfuckin` mic from me, c`mon
Aight.. aiyyo, P`ll tell it like story, just like a narrator
Ya don`t mean it, we snappin` it like the Aligators
Open ya eyes so you can see what the drama mean
I hit ya man in the cheek wit` a barber blade,
and I`m in the first floot at the (?) Parade
Forty on the weights wit` a fifty on the garcarade
Always got the route, never had the heart to beg
You ain`t seein` shit `til a slug rip a part`a head
[Chorus] - 4X
