Lyrics M.N.O.H.P. - RBL Posse

M.N.O.H.P.

See, I’m like 2Took
All over niggas look
When I be posted
Some niggas walk through in a drop stain
Like muggin, gettin toasted
See we like slittin the cust or grab the gats
While them marks walk through
See Harvard’s a dead ass street
So we will like have to bust at you and uh
I think them marks are down the way-way
So bay-bay
Start bussin caps for the grave homies in jay-jay
It must have been a lucky day
That 351 was out there barkin
They got away clean and smooth while my niggas was steady sparkin, see
I know the drama’s gone be on
I phone, to my brother Took cause he the backbone
He be like organizing the violence that take place up on this blocc
You fuck around with this posse, you might wind up gettin glocked
GiggityGlock, I’m on the blocc
Labeled the loccsta
Posted on the side of a house just like a poster
I’m ready to die for seven digits
And see if you can get it
Cause tonight, it’s life is shorter than a midget
(Black C)
I put the mortiary number up on his pager
(Mister C)
Don’t fuck with me!
(Hitman)
Well, creepy creepy, here I come
Now, it’s time to muzzle them niggas with the G-L-O-C-K
Waiting for that payday
So now it’s time to get my squad and rush up in his market
And if you notice an enemy, we spot it as a target
Grab my (?)
Hittin it, splittin it
Sucka ass niggas is prohibited
Get with this
Cause if you runnin up mane, you’re just bound to get mistreated
Battered and beated, lie down like (?)
Cause suckas be tryina play
It’s time to huff and puff
I’mma shoot about, tapin (?)
Cause one little pinky got away, that means it’s bout 7 days
It’s time to put the code on his pager
And let him know it’s major
(Black C)
I put the mortiary number up on his pager
(Mister C)
Don’t fuck with me!
(Mister C)
Well it’s about time I school niggas like?
Deep fry that?
like some freshly made?
You know you can’t fuck with this gang
I’m like some clothes without no hanger
Boy, you know you can’t hang so, uhm
Act like you knew
You should have been a???
And no, you can’t put no salt on this Frisco pimpin???
Just give me a fuckin toolbox cause I lost all my screws
My last name is Church so it’s time for you to pay your sunday dues
And if you don’t, fool this show ain’t no hope
My breath don’t stank
But yes, I got the scope
Point it at your dome
Here in '94
I’m runnin around, walkin up to niggas just like they was???
So you don’t have to get the yellow pages
Cause I left that mortiary number in your fucking pager
(Black C)
I put the mortiary number up on his pager
(Mister C)
Don’t fuck with me!
(Cellski A.K.A. 2Took)
In my backyard, it’s a gang of bodies that’s buried
When you walk in my backyard, you walkin on the cemetery
When I was born, I was born on the 13th
My best friend was Freddy, yo, we used to live on Elm Street
Back when I was young
About ten years old
Jim Jones was my idol cause he took alot of souls
Now that I’m older, I got alot of cis
No fingerprints to be found and not a lick of evidence
Playin out the murder before I heard another victim
Pulled the lick before I stick him on the ground
That’s when I kick em
Leave em dead or dying with his eyes open wide
Get some dank and go high to get my mind of the homicide
Turned on the news to see what they was sayin
They said The Taker struck again for his twelft straight slayin
Because the nigga got played like Sega
So I hooked the mortiary number up on his pager
(Black C)
I put the mortiary number up on his pager
(Mister C)
Don’t fuck with me!
Don’t fuck with me!