| Calling all Siccmade riders
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| Usual suspects
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| Report to the mic room
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| Let’s do it like this
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| All it took is a half teaspoon of salt, half teaspoon of baking soda
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| Bitch ass nigga, move out the way, we taking over
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| Like Takeover Entertainment
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| Matter of fact, my niggas in the house, we 'bout to tell you how the game went
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| But if you would give me about thirty more seconds, so I could touch niggas
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| like greeting cards
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| I’m a lethal weapon and I’ma creep with weapons like Saving Private Ryan
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| Niggas’ll have to recognize, if they don’t they probably lying
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| They got too much pride, trying to get twisted up like greenery
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| Socking niggas up in the crowd like bing bing bing-bing bing bing bing
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| It’s like that, nigga, real gats
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| And I got that all-black thing in the back that peels caps
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| And I’m still that nigga in black like Anerae
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| Fifty sack of bomb a day and it’s all to the face, nigga
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| Nobody, no case, nigga, quick to replace niggas
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| Spit hot heaters all at your face, nigga, clips split them
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| I’m the E-dash-M-O-E, don’t nobody know me
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| I can run in their house and kill their whole family
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| But uh… I refuse to lose, paying my dues, singing ghetto blues
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| Counting my twos and fews, knocking out fools and crews
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| Because if they knew I ever had it, shoot me up with automatics
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| We mob deep like Havoc and Prodigy, how stupid you got to be
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| Fucking with the best, represent the West Coast
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| I’m tryna be cool before I hit you in the nose
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| Case closed and red roses, split your head like Moses
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| You know this, I keep a strap in my lap when I’m at a show, bitch
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| I take a ho in the back and let her know, trick
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| This be the city of Sac, all the way to the «O», bitch
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| We out here taking it back, you heard that, motherfucker
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| You ain’t fucking with no suckers
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| Ain’t nobody out here doing this can touch us
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| Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn
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| Murder for wholesale,, alibi’s trump-tight
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| Taking bodies to the dump site
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| What the fuck happen you when don’t come right
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| Got the bitches squared up in my gun sight
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| See, what I do is number one: premeditate
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| Number two: infiltrate, do my dirt, then finally
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| Number three: make my escape and vacate to where my alibi waits
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| With a smile on the face and panties low on her waist
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| Not your usual, not your average savage
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| Crossing state lines with munitions in my baggage
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| Cabbage, shit, got to get it
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| But now, the reality is all about how to get away with it
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| Feel my fire, the heat I spit lets you exhibit
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| Make your heart stop a minute, thirty seconds, bitch nigga shit
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| I manifest, flip it, make it spill like liquid
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| First Siccmade chick hit with a bit of the siccness
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| Wicked witch of the West Coast style, look at me now
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| Sacramento, Cali, check us deep in the South
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| The wax melted, burn you up like rubber, dub you another
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| Witness the bad bitch gut check you in trouble
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| I make G’s, believe that
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| Smoke fat bomb weed after weed sack
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| Take cheese, I’m going to need that
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| Come with me to the 5150, it get tricky
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| see me be the most sneaky, freaky mind, sickly
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| Put it all on wood, you wish you could but you can’t fuck with this
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| Can’t touch my shit, you
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| Battle the cats, I like getting the practice
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| Mind strong, I rhyme long, I bust fastest
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| I got the toolie that make you ashy
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| Bet you didn’t know I keep two clips with my Smitty
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| Never know what you’re facing, just running and pacing
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| It’s not good to be chasing
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| Me? |
| I can’t run real fast, I’m after the cash
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| Especially when I blast that ass, so keep that ass
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| Out of them dark streets, 'cause I possess the heat
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| That puts you under a sheet, don’t sweat the technique
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| I’ll leave you bloody on the beat, just got into half bit into like a peach
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| I’ma start touching niggas up just like paint
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| Just because I never killed nobody doesn’t mean that I can’t
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| Now walk the plank, while I’m just puffing on dank
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| You bitch-ass nigga, now what the fuck you think?
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| They call me the day walker, AK Phonk Beta
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| So, open up your mouth while I ejaculate it
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| Fuck a bitch, I’ll put your ass on the release list
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| Siccmade starter got no room for your three cents
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| And rumors around the precinct have it that you’re a gossiper |
| Talk show host like Ricki Lake and that’s a problem, sir
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| I flip cakes like Betty Crocker, Mr. Officer
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| So, if he tell you what I be doing, I gots to pop him, sir
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| That’s how the game go, no advance, no halos
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| Who am I to say so but check out my whole case load
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| Been dealing with drama since mama, she let her babe go
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| And never looked back, so I learned to cook crack to make dough
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| Break hoes like fake hoes when I run in their house
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| Mask down, pistol out, nigga, give me your house, give me your spouse
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| I’ll pop her ass in the head so quick won’t no blood even spill on her blouse
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| Just sit on the couch, give me the safe or I’ll spit in your mouth
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| Find it myself, fill the bag then I’m out, nigga
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| You ever wondered what it sounds like when dirt’s raining on the casket?
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| I’ma hit you, split you wide open with the automatic
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| I’ll let you feel the frantic
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| Fuck around and seat that ass next to the Titanic
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| Don’t panic, nigga, 'cause it was you kicking up all the dust on your internet
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| chat line
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| We’ll take your face and break your guts and leave your killer hard to find
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| All my Siccmade niggas are devil blind
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| Go cross the line, try to take the shine
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| I fucking dare you
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| I’ll let my twin cal or this .45 smell you all over the concrete
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| The shit you wolfing off is deep 'cause a nigga like me never sleep
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| A bitch-ass nigga, wrap them rivals heads in plastic
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| Run up in their house and ransack it
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| Ain’t gonna be another in this game
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| Stay smoke a nigga out and let my nigga Manson live through my name
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| Calico, eternal flames
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| I’m in position, ready, set, here we go on three
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| I’m crawling through the doggy door 'bout to vanish these fleas
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| A few pops behind the ear is all it takes (then what?)
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| Then you’re leaking like a drippy faucet, bleeding like grapes
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| We’re hitting seven points of entry at the same damn time
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| Plus my boy been in your pantry since a quarter to nine
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| The toys been cocked and ready since you crossed that line
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| We snatch your shit up like greedy kids, «That's mine, that’s mine!»
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| Twitchy trigger fingers, 'bout to itch them and blast
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| Practice tactical assaults in all black like the TASK
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| Twist your neck until we hear your upper vertebrae snap
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| Operating with a face mask and a surgery cap
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| You’re flipping birds in your raps, we’re hitting curbs in the 'Lacs
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| Spitting tell it like it is, you’re obscuring the facts
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| And the fact is it’s beddy-bye time, so nighty-night
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| Drive a motherfucking stake through your heart like Fright Night
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| Who want some? |
| Tell them niggas come and get it
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| I make sure that they coffin is custom fitted
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| The way that I rip shit put these niggas to rest
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| So walk around the city with a «S» on my chest
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| Unusual suspect, ready to jump out the bushes
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| And leave a knife in a nigga neck, slit a nigga throat
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| Kill that nigga and his ho, fuck a rap and fuck this scrap
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| And I create another bloody glove, nigga, like OJ
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| Niggas bend blocks, send shots, put big holes in your body
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| You ready to go all out? |
| Keep your doors locked
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| .44 cocked, ready or not
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| Invest in noodles that make things happen
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| Would you believe this nigga tried to cross me
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| So, I had to off him, leave him like a puzzle
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| All in his muzzle backing it up with some muscles
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| Came in this game with a def jam, like Russell
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| Serious, niggas tried to step but your mouth ain’t no bicep
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| Seen so many niggas try to side step
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| But the niggas couldn’t get over 'cause the niggas moving like a 16-wheel truck
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| 21st Street rider, for real and I know what’s up
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| On them switching-lane ass niggas, so watch where you step, nigga
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| 'Cause when your shit goes down in flames, man your ass
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| Them firestarters done came, them daredevil’s ain’t up on my level
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| The way I push the pedal, they get smashed on by King Kong in this concrete
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| jungle
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| Nigga, stop swinging on Siccmade dick
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| Stick him with a full clip, you know where I be
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| When Siccmade niggas about to break the bank for about seven figures
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| With more heat and metal arms under my sleeve
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| About four or three, now they know this nigga
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| I stay sticking and moving, moving and sticking
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| Motivation with improvements, my blueprints is ruthless |
| It’s useless, with two clips, putting holes in you like toothpicks
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| Walking straight at the end,
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| Cutthroats and dividends
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| flipping, ripping and spitting
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| Like some staples up in your facial
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| Giving you a fucking faceful, I was faithful
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| You was acting ungrateful and hateful, so, I’m about to be playful with you
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| Switching my bishop like Bishop
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| You think I’m then I’m flipping it like a pimp did in 1960
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| Usual suspects so miss me
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| Usual suspects so miss me
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| Straight shitting on niggas, popping clips and pulling triggers
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| Tell me nothing off the liquor, now how you figure you’re the bigger rigger
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| Your face will stick
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| You better stay cold, nigga 'fore I fill hollow holes in you
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| Killer California, another one on the bus
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| Come into your home and start until you’re both fucked
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| The, yo, what’s up, mama raised no punk
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| You want to stomp and just buck, I gives a fuck
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| Smoked the face off the blunt, up in the cut and bending corners
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| Tucked
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| Always talking that stuff, you full of powder, you puff
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| Hit your turf hella tough and blow your whole fucking hood up
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| Yeah, now I’m spitting knots with the hit rock
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| Siccmade shit’s hot, big Glock shoot shots
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| All the way to the tip-top, see me coming for you, ready or not
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| So if I see you on the southside and a trick slipping, I’m grabbing the Glock
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| See a bitch-made nigga like you should
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| Because you don’t know enough about the man with the hand to put your ass in
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| the box
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| Now what you got?
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| Not a damn thing and you can’t hang with the realer man
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| So it’s best to get your own thing before I make you rope hang, nigga |