| Yeah, this for all you non-believers
|
| Especially out in the C-O
|
| Man, fuck y’all niggas
|
| Woo! |
| Yeah, I’m talented
|
| When I die, you can see what’s deep in my eye (my eye)
|
| Woo! |
| Yeah, I’m talented
|
| When I die, you can see what’s deep in my eye (my eye)
|
| 7 Sign…
|
| I put who got you, too, who shot you
|
| Who got you, Glock you and stop you (stop you, stop you)
|
| Look who got you, too, who shot you
|
| Who got you, pop you and stop you (stop you, stop you)
|
| Nigga, this Mo Thug and we can get fucked-up
|
| Even if I’m under surveillance, I watch out
|
| Wanna win, and fuck 'em up daily, throwin' up 7
|
| What am I yellin'? |
| Murderer
|
| Nigga, once you come you must pay like crazy if you
|
| (Muthafucka, don’t play me) play me
|
| Nigga, not today
|
| I see you but you can’t see me
|
| I know with all of government and
|
| Yes, this will get crazy and blow (bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb)
|
| Got your mind blown, vocal tones keep it sewn
|
| Blastin' out your steroes or your headphones
|
| The roots exploited clones; |
| therefore
|
| It’s my job to describe the loudness, the habitat of rap survival kit
|
| Artistic skin abrasion, so when 'em fadin' my worldly reflections
|
| It’s magnified to new levels of elevation
|
| Woo! |
| Yeah, I’m talented
|
| When I die, you can see what’s deep in my eye (my eye)
|
| Woo! |
| Yeah, I’m talented
|
| When I die, you can see what’s deep in my eye (my eye)
|
| I put who got you, too, who shot you
|
| Who got you, Glock you and stop you (stop you, stop you)
|
| Look who got you, too, who shot you
|
| Who got you, pop you and stop you (stop you, stop you)
|
| The Rip here to run in the street
|
| And flippin' on police, yeah they know me
|
| I’m not lonely, only, show me when the smoke clears
|
| And at least I had my homie and a nigga, K, homie
|
| All bitches, look into it as you want the real killa?
|
| Well, pull out your pistol, bitch, and shoot it, shoot it
|
| And you knew it, do it, when, when you looked in my eyes
|
| I’m ready to die
|
| And I hope my mama really loves me
|
| Cause daddy’s bye-bye
|
| Inner pride with the Ripsta
|
| Let 'em hit ya with the scripture
|
| Picture me locked out and smoked out with a half of fifth of
|
| Three sixty-five, I revolve around trees
|
| They’ll be Japanese Maje$ty's corruptin' record companies
|
| Nigga, jump for cheese, catch sub-zero freeze
|
| And crack once the atmosphere brings the temperature back
|
| Slacks only in dress pants
|
| Have you ever danced with the devil in pale moonlight?
|
| I have, Hollywood niggas make me laugh
|
| Sell a dream to 'em
|
| Cash, no royality, grab they royal keys and dash
|
| My overhead projects how ends meet to foul or ejected
|
| Lyrics was selected beyond my control, last door on the totem pole
|
| Pockets swoll from tape residue, last interview and went in daytime
|
| It’s made a promise to let down smooth criminals gently in my business
|
| Grab your earlobe and bend, this is big business, buy tapes
|
| Don’t lend, niggas mad while I scrap change for phillies, why grill me?
|
| Got bigger balls to chase waterfalls with Chili
|
| Explore on four wheels or foot, I bring it to that ass over the hook
|
| So when you slip, gots it. |
| I ride up on it
|
| I had to maintain my mental frame, and now I’m Boneless
|
| Word sound 'til I’m foamin'
|
| Cybergenics wanted my genes for clonin'
|
| Disownin' heads like Romans fight rebel Trojans
|
| More than civil suits make my longevity boost, articles
|
| And promotions make me more potent
|
| Deadly to the mind, 'causin' somethin' to be blind
|
| Re-define lines entertwined with all mankind
|
| Would that rain outshine divine Maje$ty, shame
|
| The boogie down punks is where the hearts still remain
|
| I’m a let a nigga know
|
| You know what I’m sayin', just right off the bat
|
| I gives a fuck about no nigga
|
| Don’t be no (corvie) — ass nigga
|
| I’m tryin' to tell niggas that off the rip
|
| Off the rippa, baby (I must me losin' my mind)
|
| Where’s tha mob?
|
| Find your specialty, let’s give this nigga a job
|
| Is you ready for jail?
|
| Yes and no, but somebody’s gonna try to rob
|
| We can spar, but you’ll get drop (drop)
|
| I’m a bomb, ready for war, will I p-pop pop
|
| Been looking for miles, been doomed since the womb
|
| When he put me in my tomb
|
| I’ve been thuggin' so assume when I entered your room, boom
|
| Stomped through Compton and cities y’all ain’t never heard of
|
| And listen I bet there’s thousand people screamin' I’ll murder, murder it
|
| Hypnotized, took off my shirt, I got alive
|
| I’m tatted so when I die you can see what’s deep in my eyes
|
| Trues ride but trues die, my nigga, don’t cry
|
| I shedded my last tear when I found out love was a lie
|
| So I try, but it ain’t nothin' for my mental
|
| So piss off my pencil, and I blast, dash in a rental
|
| One nigga got amped and off he in the trap with some
|
| They took a chance and lost
|
| Let’s spray everybody and gangsta gone
|
| Don’t finish the wars when they ain’t over
|
| I love you thugs, but all them skeletons got so close
|
| And they got so hard if it ain’t starved
|
| This family that don’t give a fuck who you are
|
| It ain’t nothin' like some trouble
|
| How close? |
| How far (how far, how far)? |