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(Killa Tay) |
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I'm mastermindin the plot, you ???? the spot |
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Wicked intentions, sensin friction, when the funk gon' pop |
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I tote my heat, and hold my ground |
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They know I clown |
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Pistol whippin and strippin em |
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Down to they riches, rapin they bitches |
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Nigga it's a, jack move, 187, count yo blessin |
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Hollow tips fire from all directions, leavin em wetted |
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Yo pieces deleted from existence, don't make no difference |
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I'm bangin like Metallica, serve any challenger |
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With a tre 8 caliber, ****in em up like Algebra |
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From Cali to Florida, call the coroner |
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I'm missing in action, packin a full clip, for the bullshit |
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I told my nigga Lynch I got his back face |
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What's up now, ????? |
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(Brotha Lynch Hung) |
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Killa Tay, and I'm jackin the ditch |
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From the shit that get spit to take a lock on the dick |
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Like a red nosed pick nigga |
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I don't really give a shit about they life man |
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Off that night train |
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Cut they ****in throat wit a knife man |
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And that's right man |
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Leave em layin in the cut |
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With they guts cut up what up |
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Put ya nuts up, on the shelf with no help |
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I'm so hell I'm so stealth, (I'm so, I'm so) |
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Nigga, Mr. know where to be contacted |
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Just bombsack it, tell my momma how I'm actin |
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When I'm packin I got my practice |
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In, I'm off that gin, losin wind(What you waitin for) |
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I'm waitin for the show to begin, half past ten thirty |
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Reverend like James, straight up strange |
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Shootin range, twenty four feet |
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Leave you off the earth with this heat |
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Leave you in the street, human meat |
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Believe me, I still be workin this like a thug(Like a thug) |
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Put you in the back of the Coupe DeVille |
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Take you to the alley, shoot to kill |
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**** that I gotta buck back(Nigga) |
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**** that(Nigga) |
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I ain't goin out like no zombie |
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Nigga smokin all that bomb weed |
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You possess and yes, I'm strapped like tombstone |
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Ready to pull out the Rafe, man, clackin wit Killa Tay |
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Lunasicc, Marvaless |
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(Chorus) |
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Like Jason, and CamCrystals with a pistol, |
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chainsaw and merchetti when the funk start, we ready |
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Like Jason and CamCrystals with a pistol, |
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chainsaw and merchetti, we serious about that fetti |
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(Marvaless) |
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Paper chase, but still credit to large accounts |
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Survive by the ounce all in the mix |
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Just as deep as it gets, ??? no counterfeits |
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Strictly bout my six, but don't ever doubt it |
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My niggaz is bout it |
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For the love of the money and game |
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Shakin you niggaz is funny |
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It's just somethin about, the way the game get spit |
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Cali niggaz find a ??? in, for the scrilla strictly ballin |
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I figure a bitch nigga be the first to test |
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The first to get blessed |
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Not the one to stress I'm too complex |
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And my mind-state, no contest |
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Hot what I do so it takes a god to do what I must |
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Never had no trust |
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Cuz niggaz will snitch |
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Go on some other shit real quick |
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Scholar, bout that dollar, make you holla, make you feel it |
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Drop wit Killa, we the realest |
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Cali niggaz runnin the chain up |
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(Lunasicc) |
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Double C, the gangsta with the glock in the cut |
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Identify the busta, aim first, then I bust |
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Creepin with the mask, blast on any nigga that move |
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Put my bitch in the back seat, cuz my AP need room |
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I got a real crew of niggaz, ain't no punks in my squad |
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Bitch, to get away, drive, but don't leave till the bank get robbed |
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I wear Khaki Pants, Levi Jeans, and Hilfiger's |
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Puttin em on they back like they drunk off liquor |
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So throw them rags up |
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If niggaz trippin, we catch em slippin, hold them 9's up |
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Blast on they ass, flash on they ass |
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Light my weed up, I like to get away high |
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On the cut postin like Pac |
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Niggaz scream til I die, I'm no lie |
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(Chorus) - 2x |
