| yeah
|
| You frontin’style to me it’s war when the beat drop
|
| just anotha mothafucka gonna see pac
|
| you the type that’ll run when the heat pop
|
| the type that’ll hide a gun when he see cops
|
| but not me, I’ll aim a thirty-eight at the crown
|
| show up the next day at the wake and frown
|
| yeah, and then I’ll laugh at the widow
|
| then my man stoupe blast through the window
|
| foul when I was young but I survived karma
|
| drop bombs like a b-25 on ya yeah, it’s vietnam in the trenches
|
| just keep my seat warm on the benches
|
| I run with wild puerto ricans that hit L’s
|
| and study classical verses by *Big L*
|
| we came up in the game at the same time
|
| and read one-hundred-fifty rappers with the same rhyme
|
| yeah, yeah, uh huh
|
| (break: when I touch the microphone I usually rock it…)
|
| I’m a mothafuckin baboon
|
| hit you with thirty seven stab wounds
|
| bury your body deep in earth inside a black tomb
|
| you scared of the rain, you fear weather
|
| I’m hardcore like pall-bearer in sheer terror
|
| I’ll be ready for war with suede timbs on
|
| y’all ain’t ready to brawl until Vin’s gone
|
| won’t stop till you dead in hell
|
| Vinnie Paz, mega-child daddy (eh-grendel?)
|
| this bread we fail, yeah, because the beast in all this
|
| I was rockin’Diadoras while you was eatin’porridge
|
| I was listenin’to the *Hilltop Hustlers*
|
| while you was duckin from sounds of popped mufflers
|
| you was playin’little games with your fathers
|
| I was robbin’mothafuckas for they Starters*
|
| you a novice, and I’m a old vet
|
| and I was there when the heavens and the globe met
|
| break
|
| yeah
|
| you ain’t safe if the bomb exists
|
| so I side with the Vietnamese communists
|
| if you wit me mothafucka raise your arm and fist
|
| and we can bust a fuckin’cap and see if God exists
|
| I scarred your wrist, with a poisonous rusty razor
|
| if its Jedi Mind Tricks then it must be flavour
|
| and it ain’t safe no more
|
| ain’t safe in the mothafuckin’place no more
|
| get laced in your upper-body, face and jaw
|
| you the type of fagget we ain’t got the patience for
|
| we break the law, while we pay our respects to Allah
|
| but if it’s beef then we be sprayin’your neck with a four
|
| I love to hear the sound of a corpse drop
|
| so protect your fuckin’neck like a cough drop
|
| I let the four shot, from different latitudes
|
| so keep it movin’like a bitch that got an attitude |