| Ratatatatatata, boom!
|
| Ratatatatatata, boom!
|
| Two strikes, turn that pussy to a sacrifice
|
| Slash and gut the gar, ash the blunt and park
|
| Roll the window down, and ask the price
|
| I've always hated flashin' lights, I'd rather grab the mask and knife
|
| Snag the cash in spite the fact I smashed your bitch for asking nice
|
| I'm passin' pipes and glass and spikes, I bag the ice
|
| Ignite the rags in gasoline, one strike of the match
|
| And now we talking thrice, three strikes
|
| I might forget the events of tonight, Ruby all bite
|
| Leave 'em bleeding, leave the scene and say, "goodnight!"
|
| Cut Throat, Cut Throat
|
| Cut Throat, Cut Throat
|
| Cut Throat
|
| Ratatatatatata—
|
| Cut Throat, Cut Throat
|
| Cut Throat, Cut Throat
|
| —boom!
|
| If we got business, motherfucker, let me know (who?)
|
| Everybody know my rep since 1994 (four!)
|
| I don't swing high, if I got that nine, bitch in Calvin Klein
|
| Blunts borderline—fuck it, still smoke it anyway
|
| I be that $uicidal worshipped idol, filled up with that medication
|
| Burning bibles, grab your child, chopper style a generation
|
| Readin' revelations got me thinking
|
| Been ready to die, but I ain't got no fucking patience, you feel me?
|
| Ratatatatatata, boom!
|
| Wakin' up, dirty sodas get poured in
|
| I had some blues, but I sold 'em
|
| Keep K's, and Glocks but they stolen
|
| I might just flip 'em and profit
|
| Make more off licks, run your pockets
|
| My OG's poppin' a rocket
|
| I pray to God they free Gozm
|
| But God don't hear me, these prophets is all too false, so I'm mobbing
|
| If you can't get 'em, I got 'em
|
| Pull up and handle the problem
|
| Squeeze three, hear it move through the breeze
|
| Now you standing bloody, can't breathe
|
| Got goonies who gone off that tweak
|
| Sip syrup and drank Hennessy
|
| That just be the truth through these streets
|
| Ratatatatatata, boom! |