| I mix it with a bit of bakin soda,
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| In this crack sack in the back pack before I make em older,
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| I put em in the game, nigga imma franchise player,
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| Put it in his brain, nigga, than a zen dialator,
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| Roll in the quiet, I pull heavy metal when you can fry quick,
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| Like sizzline, all I wanna know, is is he clean,
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| If its not, it’s right off the levy, smash off in a Chevy,
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| If it’s hot, smoke up the whole area like Richard Petty
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| In his brains and his guts in his backseat, lookin like spaghetti in the pot,
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| Ready or not, I stay steady with the shot
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| From long distance for instance break out like Eddie Rock
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| Before I’m leavin em leavin you bleedin on yo block
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| Good night, don’t even fight, just let it go,
|
| And too many live, when they get hit with the technical,
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| I don’t sweat it though, I just roll,
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| I ain’t gotta prove it I just know,
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| It’s all ready betta get used to it
|
| I do hose, so if you see me on the streets and you got, beef,
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| Believe me nigga I do blow hella niggas brains out,
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| Fuckin wit mine, cuz what I do got, I got it while I was stuck on the grind,
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| Carryin two glocks, gettin off these rocks, gettin my rocks off,
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| Fuckin slut bitches with nines and to the cops soft fuckin stuff dicks in ya
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| mind,
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| Fuckin ya block off, nigga, fuck you faggots, you niggas cock-soft
|
| Good night, don’t even fight, just let it go,
|
| And too many live, when they get hit with the technical,
|
| I don’t sweat it though, I just roll,
|
| I ain’t gotta prove it I just know,
|
| It’s all ready betta get used to it
|
| I’ll put ya brains in a trash compactor, I’m smashin backwards,
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| And blastin at ya spot with the mac n,
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| I gets to crackin like a bad hair gaskin,
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| I’ll take ya nuts, to ya momma in a basket,
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| I don’t give a fuck, touch em up quicker than earl shine,
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| Dip on that ass in the pearl white and then good night,
|
| Don’t even fight, just let it go, and too many live,
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| When they get hit with the technical, but I don’t sweat it though,
|
| Imma blocc nigga like C-Bo, make ya bleed slow,
|
| Jumpin over you niggas like I was Eval Knievel,
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| When I hit that right strapped up, you G niggas betta back up, pack up,
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| Cuz bodies bout to stack up, when the moseroty wearin black stuff,
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| And I’m back in the cut, fuckin it up, you young niggas betta wait yours,
|
| Imma sicko psycho run in the house get so psycho blood type-O
|
| Dancin with the devil with my hands on heavy metal, oh,
|
| On every level go, when I put the pedal to the flo
|
| It’s good night…
|
| Some say I’m sicka than syphilis nigga get the picture?
|
| I’ll rip ya spleen out and cook it and go have dinner wit ya,
|
| I’m sicker than head like Charles Michael than it takes, to get ya,
|
| To paint different pictures if it’s in the way hit ya with the siccness,
|
| Get this nigga imma keep it gangsta,
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| See you in the club and run up on ya ass then bank ya,
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| Ain’t the, nigga to be fuckin with when I got revenue,
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| If anybody got niggas that are rubia pop you nigga Kevin do,
|
| I gots ta keep it that way, carry the outlaw like who is you?
|
| I’m in grand blue like imma Dallas cowboy,
|
| 24 on my jersey hit em up by the 03,
|
| In the morning catch em stretchin and yawnin and stretch em out,
|
| on a? |
| west so 30 ?, I put em in trash bags and put em in the backyard,
|
| like I was livin in Baghdad, I be givin niggas they hat back,
|
| And they heart in my backpack, and they guts and they nuts,
|
| And they intestines up in the Cadillac,
|
| Good night, don’t even fight, I split that black flag,
|
| Niggas got it mixed up like baking soda in a crack sack,
|
| Gotta get ya back cracked open, imma southside strangler,
|
| Creepin up in all black like Oakland imma be the thang in ya
|
| Good night, don’t even fight, just let it go,
|
| And too many live, when they get hit with the technical,
|
| I don’t sweat it though, I just roll,
|
| I ain’t gotta prove it I just know,
|
| It’s all ready betta get used to it |