| Taking over this shit nigga
|
| The war has now begun
|
| Jump in front of the gun if you wanna
|
| You gon be a motherfucking goner
|
| Watch out for this blue and gray
|
| Cause we gon make way
|
| I put this on the West nigga
|
| S.L.A.B. |
| gon be on top of this shit here
|
| I know you niggas in the game, finna feel me
|
| I’m never gon shut up, until a nigga kill me
|
| And I feel like I’m headed, to the Penitentiary
|
| Cause this is the part, when we ride on our enemies
|
| I spit slow, so these snitch niggas can know who I be
|
| Z-Ro the Crooked, I’ve infected more people than H.I.V
|
| Say hello and say la-vi with it, it don’t matter to me
|
| My motherfucking family, S-L-A-B in back of me
|
| Tragedies often is prevented, but when the windows be this tinted
|
| It’ll be a drive by, chastising niggas spirits as I slide by
|
| Don’t ever in your life, try to challenge my mind’s eye
|
| Fuck around and make me, make these motherfuckers die
|
| So listen to the sound of Fraiser, releasing his anger
|
| Listen to the sound of Douglas, with one in the chamber
|
| Listen to the sound of me, spilling my hate with this Mack
|
| And I can’t stop, until I see my nigga Joseph with stacks
|
| Pants sagging, cause I got my pistol in my pocket
|
| And it ain’t nothing to cock it, throw a search party for your wig and rock it
|
| Head busting, Z-Ro standing over your bed dumping
|
| Be gone before the FED’s running, real life head humming
|
| You ever see a guerilla, with his hands quicker
|
| Cause Trae been clicking on fake niggas, just like that bitch nigga
|
| We realer, we them niggas that be Maabing on bitches
|
| Cause all that pistol play capping, finna to get you put up with stitches
|
| I heard that controversy sells, but down South it’ll get you hurt
|
| And if you in it get fucked over, I’m about to raise up your skirt
|
| It ain’t no need to take it back, not when they slug’s been shot
|
| I’m fresh off the block I’m hot, and you about to get dropped
|
| I’m feeling like Pac, so now I gotta ride on you cats
|
| And all of my enemies better move, before they get put on they back
|
| A soldier bout to attack, if you want me let’s get it cracking
|
| That’s going for any one of you niggas, thinking we rapping
|
| On down to friends and foes, you niggas gotta go
|
| Then again I ain’t got no friends, cause most of 'em turned to hoes
|
| And to the niggas, that love to put a slug under they breath
|
| I’ma lean on a nigga, and bring that bitch out of they chest
|
| I’m a soldier, 4−5 strapped in the holster
|
| Shells popping out, like a motherfucking toaster
|
| Archie Lee the hood legend, I rep’s my block
|
| I hit your spot, pull out connect my knots
|
| I got a gun fetish nigga, with techs and Glocks
|
| So many infrared beams, it’s like connect the dots
|
| I wish you would, try some hoe shit in the hood
|
| Be the nigga with a bat, till I split the wood
|
| Now they say Hitman, is darraigned in his mind
|
| I’m just a hard head nigga, throwing up gang signs
|
| Back in the days man, I use to slang dimes
|
| Now I floss fo' dot, sixes with mine
|
| And I never turn my back, on my niggas
|
| Hard heads till I die, representing mob figgas
|
| Mafia Joe Boy, my nigga Dee-Da-Wee
|
| Agg and C, can’t forget Knock and QB holla
|
| I’m throwed in the mind, and I’m whacking 'em off
|
| Keep my pistol cocked by my side, ready to fire it off
|
| Dropping bombs on you son of a bitches, like my name Sadaam
|
| Motherfucker fin know when I make it rain, look bitch it pours
|
| When you feel that you ready, bring it steady and heavy
|
| Motherfuckers gon have to kill me, before I’m gon let 'em
|
| Take me out for my money, bitch you trying my patience
|
| Trying to violate me, my nine’ll start penetrating faces
|
| Penitentiary chances, looking over my shoulder
|
| In the kitchen burning down bricks, hot over the stover
|
| Since I’m constantly rising, how in the fuck can I fall
|
| Motherfuckers playing with fire, I’m burning 'em all
|
| I’m going get ammunition, for niggas with competition
|
| So pay attention and listen, I’m busting at Expeditions
|
| Wishing for any hater-ation, my beam is what you facing
|
| Bust with no hesitation, at niggas that’s imitation
|
| Ain’t no procrastination, I’m quick to bust heads
|
| Lil B is leaving these tweety bird, niggas for dead |
| Bust at my enemies, these niggas not kin to me
|
| Not even a friend to me, using my clip until it’s empty
|
| Cause I’m a gangsta, you wanksta fuck around and shank you
|
| I think you better move around, 'fore I treat you like a child and spank you
|
| Drop you pop you, with nothing but automatics of weapons
|
| When I start to let loose, boys be praying for protection
|
| Get 'em up get 'em up, early in the morning
|
| Crack of dawn and, I drunk a eight and I ain’t yawning
|
| Nigga be thinking they gon catch me sleeping, but they not
|
| So I keep a couple of Glocks, these boys need to stop
|
| Giving niggas head shots, and rocking they body
|
| And once you make us mad, it ain’t no stopping nobody
|
| Everybody got shotty, Guerilla Maab the mob nigga some hard head niggas
|
| They gon kill us or feel us, so this how C do it
|
| (what) Uh-huh, fuck 97−9
|
| They ain’t gotta play my shit one time, and I’ma shine
|
| We started off underground, we’ll take it back underground
|
| And take everything over, we got 'em loving our sound
|
| I’m with that Lil C, from the C-R's Hogg
|
| C ease up, niggas is all on our nuts
|
| Bandanas in the wrong pocket, so I’m all in they guts
|
| With a shank or a knife, cause I don’t need a gun
|
| I tear a nigga’s ass up, so I don’t need to run
|
| Five deuce out of the C-side, I’ll show you how a G ride
|
| You can’t stand this jeep ride, cause you ain’t even see live
|
| Falsified nigga, with a flag and some Chucks
|
| I grab the pistol grip pump, make it dump when I bust
|
| I hopped it and pancaked it, and hopped out mean mugging
|
| Walking up close, I hope you peeping this beam cuzin
|
| I blew his head in his lap, thanks to the Mack
|
| That I got from the Lac, put it to his head and opened it back
|
| Checking his pockets and hope for a stack, and hope to get back
|
| To the Lac and hope to get back down the streets, I’m back to the shack |