| Oh, wait a minute
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| You know me, nigga, smoke a whole crate of spinach
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| OG nigga, OG like Bobby Johnson
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| And I pack three heaters like Charlie Bronson
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| You want some? |
| Oh, you won’t come
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| You got sand in your gas tank, your shit won’t run
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| I’m still hungry where’s that last steak
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| Fuck it, cut out your prostate and work with that
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| I take the OJ glove, nigga, jerk with that
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| Spit’s that’ll crack your back, oh really, hurt your back
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| I got problems like COS don’t desert the fact
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| And the fact is I was the sickest amongst the black kids
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| Sitting in the corner at 14 and crack lids on the 4−0
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| 4 years later, I’m out the 4-door
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| Dumping at your afro soon as you pass go
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| I’m The Last Mohican, I feed off your belly leakin'
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| I hear what your talking but can’t feel what your speakin'
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| From the Gardens to Creek and all the way from Monday to the weekend
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| I get high, get drunk, and fuck somebody’s sweet lips in the mouth
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| Catch these fucking hollow tips in the mouth, it’s Sacramento’s dirty South,
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| nigga
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| Yeah
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| Really don’t matter (Right up to your face and diss you)
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| Cause I get’s off like a motherfucker, you know
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| And it’s real chopper (Right up to your face and diss you)
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| I’m a one-man ten-thousand day war
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| See fuck the score, I’m-a still play hard
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| And like tits in my face I’m-a stay hard
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| And playing you is like playing cards
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| See, playing me is likely to never happen
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| Got funk?
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| Forever pack your metal, I demonstrate it to several
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| I spit like diarrhea, I wish you would to see a
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| Ripgut nigga that’ll split up your guts, like, meat market
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| It’s built raps like a carpenter, graze you like a pencil sharpener
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| Don’t get me started up, I’m 350 rocket
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| .380 in my pocket and I don’t have to cock it
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| I keep it knocking from Sacramento to Chicago, roll like
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| 12-gauge in the El Dorado, I’m so tight
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| Spiderman through your night on these niggas
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| Committing sin, try it again, I’m the one supplying the gin
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| Your shit is watered down, can I bring your daughter down like out of town
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| Plus I nut on faces, you niggas fake like a oasis, hit you
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| Get away with no traces with you, like Jason did you
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| See I get’s off
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| See I can be like 60 years old
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| But still I’m-a eat meat
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| I mean I’m-a still eat niggas up
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| Nigga you got me fucked up
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| Mix professional with nigga shit
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| About to get tucked up you fucked up
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| Time to get in the dump truck
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| I get’s off on your face
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| You a swallow it-ass nigga, all of it-ass nigga
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| So I slap it on your face
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| You’re a bad wire about to get replaced
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| I’m a bad guy about to run up in your face with the .38
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| And lay you down in the crate just like they used to do back in the day
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| I been chopping niggas up ever since Sicx was sacking the yay
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| Back in '86, now it’s '03 and I’m back in your face
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| With spit’s hard like a baseball bat that’s cracking your face
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| Let me lace your shoelace, I’m 24 Deep and I’m a loose case
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| Body parts in the suitcase, make your jaw swell up like a toothache
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| Truth hurts, I do work like a state job straight bob, heavy artillery
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| For niggas who ain’t feeling me, you niggas be killing me
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| My mouth’s like a 9 millimeter, years later still a hit in your Alpine
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| So, it ain’t no question about mine, it’s about time
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| That I sew this shit up, you must’ve forgot I know the steps, so I hold heavy
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| metal
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| Eat them up on every level, heat up your Chevy metal, smash on the pedal
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| It’s the 24th Street ghetto, it’s The Gardens
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| We niggas retarded, we make your heart split, trust me
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| We started the spit’s and trust me we gonna end it by
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| Making your brain tissues rip, spit until you get tendonitis
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| I’m burning tires on you niggas careers
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| Hitman for hire on you niggas lyrics
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| and you know I just can’t shake it
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| Leave you butt-naked, half your body in the refrigerator
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| it’s Now Eat
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| It’s a crowd on the street, it’s been a killing, it’s bad news
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| Somebody give me some penicillin and tell his children
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| From the bullets, just when you thought we wouldn’t pull it
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| We took his money and his pride and everything
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| Take his honey and his ride and everything
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| It’s all bullshit, sell it
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| I spit hard, right straight from the pelvis
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| Let you tell it, I’m a nail gun emptying out nail clips
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| And he’ll still let you smell it
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| Finally get to release my own shit, nigga |