| 作词 : Bratcher, Coward, Harper ... | |
| (feat. Ultra & Ice Water) | |
| [Intro: P.C.] | |
| Don't take it per-son-al.. it's only mu-sic | |
| Holla at me.. yo! Yo! | |
| Ice Water! Yo.. yo. | |
| [P.C.] | |
| Try me, P.C.'ll put a clip in a nigga | |
| **** a hole, my bullets'll dig a ditch in a nigga | |
| Listen, I've been reppin', only pack big weapons | |
| One shot to the stomach, you missin' ya midsection | |
| I'm off the wall, dog, I could off ya balls | |
| Stick his ass to the rooftop, toss 'em off | |
| Hit the Ave with the rooftop off the porch | |
| I get money cuz it costs to floss, nigga you feelin' me? | |
| And if not then **** what you gotta deal with me | |
| I've only been here for a minute but haters wanna get rid of me | |
| P.C. creep with at least three heats | |
| And a shotgun stashed underneath the backseats | |
| [Stumic] | |
| Niggas actin' like you don't feel a draft | |
| You seen ya man? Tell him I'ma kill his ass | |
| And I don't, wanna talk I want a mill in cash | |
| I come through 'tards shittin', lookin' ill in the past | |
| Cuz it's the, Ice Water, don't get it confused | |
| And one false move'll cause me to spit at you dudes | |
| It's Stumic, mother****er and I'm pickin' ya food | |
| And ain't no one out you know that my niggas'll do you | |
| Let's spit on 'em, rush these niggas | |
| and crush several ****in', will leave a dent out ya liver | |
| Only kid in the hood with a mustard ninja | |
| Heard you broke down good, well I ****ed ya sister | |
| [Chorus 2X: Stumic] | |
| Eh yo we Wyld in Da Club, style in the club | |
| This is for my niggas gettin' down in the club | |
| At the bar throwin' down rounds in the club | |
| Talk slick and get the four pound in ya mug | |
| [Break: Polite singing] | |
| Yo I keep my gun on me, what the **** y'all want from me? | |
| Y'all touch my property somebody gon' die, uh-huh | |
| This ain't no joke, it's for real | |
| My niggas they totin' they steel | |
| All it takes a phone call and they ready to ride | |
| Get ready to die | |
| [Polite] | |
| Eh yo the cards are dealt, the words are spoken | |
| Nigga, welcome to the Hell, the gates is open (uh-huh) | |
| Gatekeeper, first degree murder through the speaker | |
| Who deep enough to flow with the reaper? | |
| Stuck in the middle, I spit a little riddle | |
| Leavin' niggas crippled, my niggas ball 'em like Kerry Kittles | |
| You niggas makin' it hard, it's really kinda simple | |
| If a nigga gotta pull it out I'm puttin' it in ya temple | |
| [Ultra] | |
| Official I do this, rude maneuver | |
| I use the Rugers to keep the bullets movin' through ya | |
| Weak anatomy, **** the small talk and flattery | |
| Ya power is weak, to beef you need much more batteries | |
| Keep it genetic, or dead it, Ice Water Inc. we said it | |
| Whoever so-called did it or said it, promote it and spread it | |
| Fake it or front it, get ambushed and confronted | |
| With slugs in ya head, back, chest and stomach | |
| Niggas don't want it or ask for it, so we give it to 'em | |
| Dead in the club and let them things spit and rip through 'em dead in the club | |
| Is you gon' **** around and be the nigga dead in the club? | |
| (Yeah? Uh-huh..) | |
| [Chorus 2X] | |
| [Raekwon] | |
| Egyptian look, gazelles on, L's lit, this how it's goin' down | |
| Ski mask, Chanel shit, move like a terrorist click | |
| Nineteen eighties babies, worldwide, ya girl on our dick | |
| All you know is Rae look good, he hood | |
| Envision the flips, I make money like them niggas who take money | |
| Fresh out the can, Duran look, Astro van | |
| The ill Castro, rap Son of Sam | |
| More Rugers, more bow and arrows | |
| Still no losers, forty five dollars ahead | |
| Go at niggas shootin' lyrical leads | |
| Stop absorbin, break shit, knock that gay shit out ya head | |
| [Chorus 2X] |
| zuo ci : Bratcher, Coward, Harper ... | |
| feat. Ultra Ice Water | |
| Intro: P. C. | |
| Don' t take it personal.. it' s only music | |
| Holla at me.. yo! Yo! | |
| Ice Water! Yo.. yo. | |
| P. C. | |
| Try me, P. C.' ll put a clip in a nigga | |
| a hole, my bullets' ll dig a ditch in a nigga | |
| Listen, I' ve been reppin', only pack big weapons | |
| One shot to the stomach, you missin' ya midsection | |
| I' m off the wall, dog, I could off ya balls | |
| Stick his ass to the rooftop, toss ' em off | |
| Hit the Ave with the rooftop off the porch | |
| I get money cuz it costs to floss, nigga you feelin' me? | |
| And if not then what you gotta deal with me | |
| I' ve only been here for a minute but haters wanna get rid of me | |
| P. C. creep with at least three heats | |
| And a shotgun stashed underneath the backseats | |
| Stumic | |
| Niggas actin' like you don' t feel a draft | |
| You seen ya man? Tell him I' ma kill his ass | |
| And I don' t, wanna talk I want a mill in cash | |
| I come through ' tards shittin', lookin' ill in the past | |
| Cuz it' s the, Ice Water, don' t get it confused | |
| And one false move' ll cause me to spit at you dudes | |
| It' s Stumic, mother er and I' m pickin' ya food | |
| And ain' t no one out you know that my niggas' ll do you | |
| Let' s spit on ' em, rush these niggas | |
| and crush several in', will leave a dent out ya liver | |
| Only kid in the hood with a mustard ninja | |
| Heard you broke down good, well I ed ya sister | |
| Chorus 2X: Stumic | |
| Eh yo we Wyld in Da Club, style in the club | |
| This is for my niggas gettin' down in the club | |
| At the bar throwin' down rounds in the club | |
| Talk slick and get the four pound in ya mug | |
| Break: Polite singing | |
| Yo I keep my gun on me, what the y' all want from me? | |
| Y' all touch my property somebody gon' die, uhhuh | |
| This ain' t no joke, it' s for real | |
| My niggas they totin' they steel | |
| All it takes a phone call and they ready to ride | |
| Get ready to die | |
| Polite | |
| Eh yo the cards are dealt, the words are spoken | |
| Nigga, welcome to the Hell, the gates is open uhhuh | |
| Gatekeeper, first degree murder through the speaker | |
| Who deep enough to flow with the reaper? | |
| Stuck in the middle, I spit a little riddle | |
| Leavin' niggas crippled, my niggas ball ' em like Kerry Kittles | |
| You niggas makin' it hard, it' s really kinda simple | |
| If a nigga gotta pull it out I' m puttin' it in ya temple | |
| Ultra | |
| Official I do this, rude maneuver | |
| I use the Rugers to keep the bullets movin' through ya | |
| Weak anatomy, the small talk and flattery | |
| Ya power is weak, to beef you need much more batteries | |
| Keep it genetic, or dead it, Ice Water Inc. we said it | |
| Whoever socalled did it or said it, promote it and spread it | |
| Fake it or front it, get ambushed and confronted | |
| With slugs in ya head, back, chest and stomach | |
| Niggas don' t want it or ask for it, so we give it to ' em | |
| Dead in the club and let them things spit and rip through ' em dead in the club | |
| Is you gon' around and be the nigga dead in the club? | |
| Yeah? Uhhuh.. | |
| Chorus 2X | |
| Raekwon | |
| Egyptian look, gazelles on, L' s lit, this how it' s goin' down | |
| Ski mask, Chanel shit, move like a terrorist click | |
| Nineteen eighties babies, worldwide, ya girl on our dick | |
| All you know is Rae look good, he hood | |
| Envision the flips, I make money like them niggas who take money | |
| Fresh out the can, Duran look, Astro van | |
| The ill Castro, rap Son of Sam | |
| More Rugers, more bow and arrows | |
| Still no losers, forty five dollars ahead | |
| Go at niggas shootin' lyrical leads | |
| Stop absorbin, break shit, knock that gay shit out ya head | |
| Chorus 2X |
| zuò cí : Bratcher, Coward, Harper ... | |
| feat. Ultra Ice Water | |
| Intro: P. C. | |
| Don' t take it personal.. it' s only music | |
| Holla at me.. yo! Yo! | |
| Ice Water! Yo.. yo. | |
| P. C. | |
| Try me, P. C.' ll put a clip in a nigga | |
| a hole, my bullets' ll dig a ditch in a nigga | |
| Listen, I' ve been reppin', only pack big weapons | |
| One shot to the stomach, you missin' ya midsection | |
| I' m off the wall, dog, I could off ya balls | |
| Stick his ass to the rooftop, toss ' em off | |
| Hit the Ave with the rooftop off the porch | |
| I get money cuz it costs to floss, nigga you feelin' me? | |
| And if not then what you gotta deal with me | |
| I' ve only been here for a minute but haters wanna get rid of me | |
| P. C. creep with at least three heats | |
| And a shotgun stashed underneath the backseats | |
| Stumic | |
| Niggas actin' like you don' t feel a draft | |
| You seen ya man? Tell him I' ma kill his ass | |
| And I don' t, wanna talk I want a mill in cash | |
| I come through ' tards shittin', lookin' ill in the past | |
| Cuz it' s the, Ice Water, don' t get it confused | |
| And one false move' ll cause me to spit at you dudes | |
| It' s Stumic, mother er and I' m pickin' ya food | |
| And ain' t no one out you know that my niggas' ll do you | |
| Let' s spit on ' em, rush these niggas | |
| and crush several in', will leave a dent out ya liver | |
| Only kid in the hood with a mustard ninja | |
| Heard you broke down good, well I ed ya sister | |
| Chorus 2X: Stumic | |
| Eh yo we Wyld in Da Club, style in the club | |
| This is for my niggas gettin' down in the club | |
| At the bar throwin' down rounds in the club | |
| Talk slick and get the four pound in ya mug | |
| Break: Polite singing | |
| Yo I keep my gun on me, what the y' all want from me? | |
| Y' all touch my property somebody gon' die, uhhuh | |
| This ain' t no joke, it' s for real | |
| My niggas they totin' they steel | |
| All it takes a phone call and they ready to ride | |
| Get ready to die | |
| Polite | |
| Eh yo the cards are dealt, the words are spoken | |
| Nigga, welcome to the Hell, the gates is open uhhuh | |
| Gatekeeper, first degree murder through the speaker | |
| Who deep enough to flow with the reaper? | |
| Stuck in the middle, I spit a little riddle | |
| Leavin' niggas crippled, my niggas ball ' em like Kerry Kittles | |
| You niggas makin' it hard, it' s really kinda simple | |
| If a nigga gotta pull it out I' m puttin' it in ya temple | |
| Ultra | |
| Official I do this, rude maneuver | |
| I use the Rugers to keep the bullets movin' through ya | |
| Weak anatomy, the small talk and flattery | |
| Ya power is weak, to beef you need much more batteries | |
| Keep it genetic, or dead it, Ice Water Inc. we said it | |
| Whoever socalled did it or said it, promote it and spread it | |
| Fake it or front it, get ambushed and confronted | |
| With slugs in ya head, back, chest and stomach | |
| Niggas don' t want it or ask for it, so we give it to ' em | |
| Dead in the club and let them things spit and rip through ' em dead in the club | |
| Is you gon' around and be the nigga dead in the club? | |
| Yeah? Uhhuh.. | |
| Chorus 2X | |
| Raekwon | |
| Egyptian look, gazelles on, L' s lit, this how it' s goin' down | |
| Ski mask, Chanel shit, move like a terrorist click | |
| Nineteen eighties babies, worldwide, ya girl on our dick | |
| All you know is Rae look good, he hood | |
| Envision the flips, I make money like them niggas who take money | |
| Fresh out the can, Duran look, Astro van | |
| The ill Castro, rap Son of Sam | |
| More Rugers, more bow and arrows | |
| Still no losers, forty five dollars ahead | |
| Go at niggas shootin' lyrical leads | |
| Stop absorbin, break shit, knock that gay shit out ya head | |
| Chorus 2X |
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