A nigga gots no heart (a nigga a nigga)
Verse 1
I`m sick up in this game
I`ll take no muthafuckin` shorts &
slam dunk these riddles up in yo` ass like Jordan
Menace II Society muthafuckin` killer
just call me the East Bay Gangsta
I`m yo` real ass nigga
Quick to make decisions & I`m
quick to get my blast on
Do a 187 with this muthafuckin` mask on
Rollin` up out the cut deeper than Atlantis
tore his chest apart left his heart on the canvas
Now I gots mo` mayo than the rest of the pushers
rat a tat tat tat came my Tec from the bushes
I blast with no heart `cause I`m heartless in nine-trey
A-K blast on that ass if in my way, nigga
slangin` `Cola since the very very start
much love for this game so a nigga gots no heart
Ain`t no love bitch
A nigga gots no heart
(gunshot)
Verse 2
Release the trigga as I blast on a nigga
nina put a cease on his Timex ticker
And uhh playas he can`t give me no love
`cause I`m stuck on the corna in the ghetto
slangin` dub sacks
and I duck when they fly by
`cause Killa Cali` is the state for the drive-by
caps peel from the gangstas in my hood
ya better use that nina
`cause that deuce-deuce ain`t no good
and umm I`m taking up a hobby
murdering muthafuckas & massacre robbery
I`m twenty-two & I`m still slangin` dub sacks
I gives the fiend some love but ain`t no love back
Much love in this game ain`t no love nigga
187 is a art `cause a nigga gots no heart
Ain`t no love bitch
A nigga gots no heart
Ain`t no love bitch
Me shootin` him up me shootin` him up
if he no give my pay
Ain`t no love bitch
Verse 3
A nigga gots no heart
& I`ll be damned if I`m broke old
pushin` on a shoppin cart
They blast on a friend of me
another sad case of a mistaken identity
12 O` clock & my `hood`s dubbin` pay back
I sat & watched them shoot my nigga
seen his face crack
Uzis spray like Raid on these cockroaches
a dropped bomb full of 187 soldiers
Doin` dirt `cause we dirty when the trigga pull
Seventeen up in that nigga left his body full
of hollow tips so I know he won`t be comin` back
I let my mail stack & let my hair platt
But my sweet sweet Sunday had to turn tart
his posse came & them niggas had no heart
Me kill all man say kill all man say
kill `em all man kill `em all with me Glock Glock
Kill all man say kill all man say
kill `em all man kill `em all with me Glock Glock
Kill all man say kill all man say
kill `em all man kill `em all with me Glock Glock
Yeah mon blam! The 187 fact man
comin` at yo` ass wit no love
Blam! Fuck ya man Pussyclot man
187 thousand G
