| I from the place where if your motherfucking jury gleam gleaming
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| Like gay shit, you takin' off your bracelet
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| My niggas start wilin' I’m gonna let 'em do them
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| They gonna start shooting, I’ma make sure they take ya new rims
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| I’m making it all on zoom lens and tell a story
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| With a body in my trunk like N.O.R.E. |
| ya tape corny
|
| I push a Porsche like Mike Lorri, what’choo think?
|
| Takin' niggas diamonds like I’m Mister Pink
|
| I doing this to the death 'til I take six in the chest
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| Bustin that cops, cess, resisting arrest
|
| Rob you with no gun, here take yo' Lexus
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| Trade it with my man for them two CRX’s
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| To my hoes I’m Snoopy, you be Woodchuck
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| Ya pussy be good luck, I don’t let nobody in my hood fuck
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| I neva wait or hesitate, there be another nigga there naked
|
| Jumpin outta that bitch wet in and shit
|
| Singin…
|
| Hook 1:
|
| Captivated by the sound
|
| Turn it up, play it loud
|
| Steady boys, stand’cha ground
|
| That’s the way it’s going down
|
| La la la la laaaaa
|
| La la la la la laaaaaa
|
| La la la la laaaaa
|
| That’s the way it’s going down
|
| Yo, yo
|
| We write the songs like Biz that got everybody jocking
|
| With Rhymes like Busta we keep the party rockin
|
| OutWorld music tight like your mommies stockings
|
| Our services cost more than Johnnie Cochran
|
| I got my hand on my gauge, man on a rage
|
| Wild, push ya man off the stage, he land on his face
|
| Y’all wanna battle with Pace, fam you ain’t safe
|
| Might pull a gat from the waist, blast you with eight
|
| Mad slugs, you’ll be bleeding from the ass up
|
| Mad blood, enough to fill up any bathtub
|
| If you got street smarts you betta use 'em
|
| I take out a couple like a two-some
|
| Two non-descript kids talking out loud on how they flip bricks
|
| It’s like we buying a truck that only fit six
|
| Unheard of, both hands on my burna`
|
| Flesh wound niggas, y’all don’t really want murder
|
| Anymore movement, even a slight twitch will further the crisis
|
| Trife is a serial killer, murder with ice picks
|
| Tagged you on ya temple twice kid which left you lifeless
|
| Hit your honey to hard, with twenty-two bars of precise’ness
|
| Pass the bone and watch how stoned I get
|
| And ain’t nothin fucking with the chrome I grip
|
| Can’t atone for the domes I split
|
| The trife is, I’m beating down cops with they own nightsticks
|
| Get locked up at four-thirty I’ll just phone my chick
|
| Don’t matter what the bail is, I’ll be home by six
|
| I’m tight, bitches grab my biscuits slap 'em twice with it
|
| Gonna sell more albums than those Spice bitches
|
| I’m nice with it, holy like Christ scriptures
|
| All the mullah, the best yet sending death threats thru ya computer
|
| I we got the Buddha, copped the Ruger
|
| Bullets rocking through ya, BOO-YAH
|
| Your brains on the nigga next to ya
|
| Hook 2:
|
| We run your little bitch ass down
|
| You’re standing on shaky ground
|
| Paranoid to move around
|
| That’s the way it’s going down
|
| La la la la laaaaa
|
| La la la la la laaaaaa
|
| Lal la la la laaaaa
|
| That’s the way it’s going down
|
| I’m not to be crossed, your postures soft
|
| I’ll dump a mobster boss face in pasta sauce, huh
|
| It took a fellow two beat downs and bullet
|
| For him to understand Outsidaz don’t bullshit
|
| I unload a whole clip of Scarecrows four-fifth
|
| I roast? |
| toe tips? |
| the forceps started to roast shit
|
| So what, your ho bitch loves to blow dicks
|
| For four sticks she blew me and my whole click
|
| You testing me with certain things I don’t want to argue
|
| I’m gonna get you for your chi-chi-chi-change and your car too
|
| You a DC comic, I’m a Marvel
|
| The black Fire Bill Marshall, ill arsenal
|
| Hook 1 |