| Feel
|
| The words that I spill still
|
| You might get killed
|
| Feel
|
| The words that I spill still
|
| You might get killed
|
| Fuck these punk busters, they all phony
|
| Plus they all knew that I was only
|
| The boy that they wish they could be
|
| Especially when they see them diamonds bling
|
| But yet still they scared to do a jack move
|
| Cause if they did they see that .44 move
|
| So these niggas lookin stiff
|
| I got these boys rose up on that bitch' tip
|
| Scary ass cluckers
|
| I wish they’d take a chance on a corner so I can bust ya
|
| With the heat grindin´ deep while they capture
|
| Then laugh to myself 'bout how I tapped ya
|
| 'Cross the top of ya skull
|
| Then let you see life ain’t gotta be dull
|
| It can be real exciting
|
| And death can be inviting
|
| Feel
|
| The words that I spill still
|
| You might get killed
|
| Feel
|
| The words that I spill still
|
| You might get killed
|
| I like to bust competition
|
| And these bitch made niggas ain’t listening
|
| Hundred one of these punks gone jump
|
| So I can let that metal dump
|
| On one of these chump-ass fools
|
| And let my seat heat up and get cool
|
| And let them find out that they dealin' wit' a G
|
| A black hearted nigga that’ll leave you in the sea
|
| And leave your bitch ass for fish food
|
| I ain’t trippin', that’s how I do
|
| Motherfuck a funeral
|
| I’m trying to make sure nobody remember ya
|
| 'Cause I got no love for these marks
|
| And I’mma let them know I’ve got heart
|
| That’s what I’m talkin 'bout
|
| Yeah, peep what I got
|
| Feel
|
| The words that I spill still
|
| You might get killed
|
| Feel
|
| The words that I spill still
|
| You might get killed |