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Nineteen ninety mother ****in six |
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That's that shit though |
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Get the mother****in squad packed |
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We got to pull these shoes out like carpet, word is bond |
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Test the crew with the guns and let's get this shit on |
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Why, must i be like that? why, must i pack the gat? |
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On my left, niggaz be rollin with the ruckus |
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Ready to get deep bust rounds upon some suckaz |
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Heard ppp and lod is a bunch of crazy mother****ers |
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Journey to the land is on |
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The winner of the spittin bomb marathon |
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The **** you up lyrathon, whatever you choose |
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Prepare to lose that title |
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Turnin vital situations suicidal, my idols, is my uncles |
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Who started smokin weed outta bibles |
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Gave me a puff when i bust my first rifle |
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Men-estration cycles, i give bitches |
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Bring your craziest nigga, i'll give stitches |
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Whateva, go crew for crew, blow for blow |
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Bang your headpiece and sniff the snow off your hoe |
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I keep it rollin... |
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Ask yourself man |
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How ugly do you have to be to be a hardcore mc? |
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Niggaz be fooled by my plaques and my light skin complexture |
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My whole texture is bombin, destroyin da schools of the wack |
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From the land of the lost, you get tossed |
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Listen to my veloc(ity), my crew's comin off |
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Yeah, more sneaky than casino switches |
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Diggin ditches for all moskino bitches |
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Clockin decimal figures, i'm gettin out diggers |
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Now my choice of truck is a land |
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Cause a landcruise much bigger |
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It pack two to three more niggaz |
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Damn i hate a golddigger |
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Yeah, gimme that microphone |
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I make opponents shit bricks like tyson's home |
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I keep the jacked cellular phone blown in three zones |
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Love seafood and keep my nine millimis chrome |
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So it can shine up your dome |
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When i proceed to give you what you need and clear spots like sea breeze |
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Wreckin your ass armaggedeon style |
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Twenty four seven while |
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My crew chin check your profile |
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(rollin...) |
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I'm the master of disaster, super rhyme maker |
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Grimy by nature, database maker |
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Play em out like sega, saturn |
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Blow your blocks in patterns for about nine acres |
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Testes, crew wearin bulletproof and double s's |
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Karl kani down, camoflouge can't hide the sounds |
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Of a fo' pound (boo-yaa) |
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Givin you six flags, bustin merry go rounds |
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But my crew stay ill with that unreal appeal |
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I be the raw water, my cheek bones outta have gills |
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Below like the opera |
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Smooth on the trigger for all you block cockers |
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I be the key to criminology |
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Blast and rotate enemies at three buck sixty |
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Pick me, as your senator |
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Take the dove from your battlefield son, **** pat benatar |
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Run, head for the hills |
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Back in the day, these niggaz rolled up on me with |
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The trunk filled with bomber brooklyns, sheeps and quartervilles |
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Aiyyo take that shit, aiyyo money snap the grill |
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Body caught chills as he ate this nine mil |
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Mine kills two but my nine was sign sealed |
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And ready to deliver, but money had me too close |
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To reach for toast, soon as that nigga blink i broke ghost |
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Dash back to south orange ave with dollar bill to smoke dope |
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I keep em rollin... |
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This is dj say what?? on this mother****er |
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Sayin the dick is long, but my time is short |
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Before i go, just remember |
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If your box ain't on fds radio, you're ****in up |
