| 作词 : George, Williams | |
| f/ Journalist | |
| [blood spillin in the street] | |
| [the what?] | |
| [blood spillin in the street] | |
| [the what?] | |
| [Journalist] | |
| Yo, Wit two precise niggas | |
| Holdin the right biscuits | |
| There'll be alot cats leakin out their life liquid | |
| Niggaz who actin hard this ain't Columbia Pictures | |
| When we throw two in your ass while you huggin on your mistress | |
| From Philly, wit cats quick to mute you at | |
| Cuckoo cats, twist back your Fubu cap | |
| Crucial, black | |
| Two chicks to screw you at | |
| Then they shove a poolstick where you doodoo at | |
| While you checkin on your pagers | |
| Weapons in your faces | |
| Shot blazin | |
| Cops section off the pavement | |
| Hoppin out with gauges | |
| Prepare for the occasion | |
| We throw about eight in | |
| The house that you was raised in | |
| Mouthin off, fakin will make you a ?mouth? patient | |
| Achin, with your arms in a alcohol basin | |
| And while your brain's achin' | |
| Imma have your dame slavin' | |
| Cocaine and apron | |
| Over a flame bakin' | |
| Hook- | |
| [Journalist] Niggas take it for granted - | |
| until they layin dead on the granite | |
| [Canibus] Innocent bystanders gett shot by standard | |
| [Journalist] y'all better duck when you hear the cannon | |
| [Both] Or y'all be checkin for leaks - | |
| Niggas'll have your blood spillin in the street | |
| [Journalist] Niggas take it for granted - | |
| until they layin dead on the granite | |
| [Canibus] Innocent bystanders gettin shot by standard | |
| [Journalist] y'all shoulda ducked when y'all heard the cannon - | |
| Now you layin deceased | |
| [Both] Niggas'll leave your blood spillin in the street | |
| [Verse 2 - Canibus] | |
| Can you feel it? Nothin can save ya | |
| Cause this is the season of the infrared laser | |
| And since I got time, What I'm gonna do | |
| Is show you how you can get spotted by one too | |
| Cause I don't give a fuck | |
| I just cock back and bust | |
| With more arms than an octopus | |
| As if one gun wasn't enough | |
| I fuck around and pull eight out | |
| Blast your face off or blow your brains out | |
| Nigga, I'll leave you laid out | |
| Then I pull the gat in my waist out | |
| Put it in your mouth | |
| And keep squeezin till the whole clip is sparyed out | |
| Take the gun in my ankle brace out | |
| Shoot you in the stomach till I see the last meal you ate drain out | |
| Your face look spaced out | |
| I gut you like a trout | |
| And scream my name out while I'm scrapin your rib cage out | |
| Squeeze with the index, spray like a bottle of windex | |
| Bullets buzzin by your head like insects | |
| From your head to your mid-sec' | |
| And I ain't even shoot you in the legs or your limbs or your dick yet | |
| Your masculinity is questionable | |
| You probably a homosexual | |
| Just the thought of havin a woman lay next to you probably threatens you | |
| You probably look at grapes and see testicles | |
| You probably fantasize about vegetables | |
| like cucumbers and bananas havin sex with you | |
| And you probably let gerbles crawl up your rectum too | |
| Shame on you | |
| I *defecate* on you and simultaneously *urinate* on you | |
| Pour some acid rain on you | |
| I stop your heartbeat with heat | |
| You weak nigga, I'll leave your blood spillin in the street | |
| [Hook] | |
| [Verse 3 - Both] | |
| Ayyo Journalist what you workin with? | |
| -Old school burners with | |
| -Barrels big enough for you head to fit in the | |
| circle shit | |
| -What you holdin Canibus? | |
| 30 bulllet banana clips | |
| Just to handle a kick I gotta glue it to my hands and shit | |
| We got permits to murder shit | |
| We critically injure niggas who deserve the shit | |
| Put em in a tournaquet | |
| -Bomb proof Suburbans with ?track to tread | |
| size? | |
| so we can ride through the dirt with it | |
| Drive over curbs with it | |
| -? in it, even over slippery surfaces | |
| -We can swerve in it | |
| And crash into niggas who don't insert their shit | |
| -Try stoppin it dudes | |
| -You gotta be bruised, cockin the tools | |
| -And knock you out your socks and your shoes | |
| We'll leave you shoeless and keep shootin | |
| Look how much life liquid you losin | |
| You need a blood transfusion | |
| -In the back of a medic truck | |
| -Shots in your neck and gut | |
| -While we holdin our weapons up | |
| -I'm still reppin' Philly - what? | |
| [blood spillin in the street] | |
| [the what?] | |
| [blood spillin in the street] | |
| [the what?] | |
| [Hook] |
| zuo ci : George, Williams | |
| f Journalist | |
| blood spillin in the street | |
| the what? | |
| blood spillin in the street | |
| the what? | |
| Journalist | |
| Yo, Wit two precise niggas | |
| Holdin the right biscuits | |
| There' ll be alot cats leakin out their life liquid | |
| Niggaz who actin hard this ain' t Columbia Pictures | |
| When we throw two in your ass while you huggin on your mistress | |
| From Philly, wit cats quick to mute you at | |
| Cuckoo cats, twist back your Fubu cap | |
| Crucial, black | |
| Two chicks to screw you at | |
| Then they shove a poolstick where you doodoo at | |
| While you checkin on your pagers | |
| Weapons in your faces | |
| Shot blazin | |
| Cops section off the pavement | |
| Hoppin out with gauges | |
| Prepare for the occasion | |
| We throw about eight in | |
| The house that you was raised in | |
| Mouthin off, fakin will make you a ? mouth? patient | |
| Achin, with your arms in a alcohol basin | |
| And while your brain' s achin' | |
| Imma have your dame slavin' | |
| Cocaine and apron | |
| Over a flame bakin' | |
| Hook | |
| Journalist Niggas take it for granted | |
| until they layin dead on the granite | |
| Canibus Innocent bystanders gett shot by standard | |
| Journalist y' all better duck when you hear the cannon | |
| Both Or y' all be checkin for leaks | |
| Niggas' ll have your blood spillin in the street | |
| Journalist Niggas take it for granted | |
| until they layin dead on the granite | |
| Canibus Innocent bystanders gettin shot by standard | |
| Journalist y' all shoulda ducked when y' all heard the cannon | |
| Now you layin deceased | |
| Both Niggas' ll leave your blood spillin in the street | |
| Verse 2 Canibus | |
| Can you feel it? Nothin can save ya | |
| Cause this is the season of the infrared laser | |
| And since I got time, What I' m gonna do | |
| Is show you how you can get spotted by one too | |
| Cause I don' t give a fuck | |
| I just cock back and bust | |
| With more arms than an octopus | |
| As if one gun wasn' t enough | |
| I fuck around and pull eight out | |
| Blast your face off or blow your brains out | |
| Nigga, I' ll leave you laid out | |
| Then I pull the gat in my waist out | |
| Put it in your mouth | |
| And keep squeezin till the whole clip is sparyed out | |
| Take the gun in my ankle brace out | |
| Shoot you in the stomach till I see the last meal you ate drain out | |
| Your face look spaced out | |
| I gut you like a trout | |
| And scream my name out while I' m scrapin your rib cage out | |
| Squeeze with the index, spray like a bottle of windex | |
| Bullets buzzin by your head like insects | |
| From your head to your midsec' | |
| And I ain' t even shoot you in the legs or your limbs or your dick yet | |
| Your masculinity is questionable | |
| You probably a homosexual | |
| Just the thought of havin a woman lay next to you probably threatens you | |
| You probably look at grapes and see testicles | |
| You probably fantasize about vegetables | |
| like cucumbers and bananas havin sex with you | |
| And you probably let gerbles crawl up your rectum too | |
| Shame on you | |
| I defecate on you and simultaneously urinate on you | |
| Pour some acid rain on you | |
| I stop your heartbeat with heat | |
| You weak nigga, I' ll leave your blood spillin in the street | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 3 Both | |
| Ayyo Journalist what you workin with? | |
| Old school burners with | |
| Barrels big enough for you head to fit in the | |
| circle shit | |
| What you holdin Canibus? | |
| 30 bulllet banana clips | |
| Just to handle a kick I gotta glue it to my hands and shit | |
| We got permits to murder shit | |
| We critically injure niggas who deserve the shit | |
| Put em in a tournaquet | |
| Bomb proof Suburbans with ? track to tread | |
| size? | |
| so we can ride through the dirt with it | |
| Drive over curbs with it | |
| ? in it, even over slippery surfaces | |
| We can swerve in it | |
| And crash into niggas who don' t insert their shit | |
| Try stoppin it dudes | |
| You gotta be bruised, cockin the tools | |
| And knock you out your socks and your shoes | |
| We' ll leave you shoeless and keep shootin | |
| Look how much life liquid you losin | |
| You need a blood transfusion | |
| In the back of a medic truck | |
| Shots in your neck and gut | |
| While we holdin our weapons up | |
| I' m still reppin' Philly what? | |
| blood spillin in the street | |
| the what? | |
| blood spillin in the street | |
| the what? | |
| Hook |
| zuò cí : George, Williams | |
| f Journalist | |
| blood spillin in the street | |
| the what? | |
| blood spillin in the street | |
| the what? | |
| Journalist | |
| Yo, Wit two precise niggas | |
| Holdin the right biscuits | |
| There' ll be alot cats leakin out their life liquid | |
| Niggaz who actin hard this ain' t Columbia Pictures | |
| When we throw two in your ass while you huggin on your mistress | |
| From Philly, wit cats quick to mute you at | |
| Cuckoo cats, twist back your Fubu cap | |
| Crucial, black | |
| Two chicks to screw you at | |
| Then they shove a poolstick where you doodoo at | |
| While you checkin on your pagers | |
| Weapons in your faces | |
| Shot blazin | |
| Cops section off the pavement | |
| Hoppin out with gauges | |
| Prepare for the occasion | |
| We throw about eight in | |
| The house that you was raised in | |
| Mouthin off, fakin will make you a ? mouth? patient | |
| Achin, with your arms in a alcohol basin | |
| And while your brain' s achin' | |
| Imma have your dame slavin' | |
| Cocaine and apron | |
| Over a flame bakin' | |
| Hook | |
| Journalist Niggas take it for granted | |
| until they layin dead on the granite | |
| Canibus Innocent bystanders gett shot by standard | |
| Journalist y' all better duck when you hear the cannon | |
| Both Or y' all be checkin for leaks | |
| Niggas' ll have your blood spillin in the street | |
| Journalist Niggas take it for granted | |
| until they layin dead on the granite | |
| Canibus Innocent bystanders gettin shot by standard | |
| Journalist y' all shoulda ducked when y' all heard the cannon | |
| Now you layin deceased | |
| Both Niggas' ll leave your blood spillin in the street | |
| Verse 2 Canibus | |
| Can you feel it? Nothin can save ya | |
| Cause this is the season of the infrared laser | |
| And since I got time, What I' m gonna do | |
| Is show you how you can get spotted by one too | |
| Cause I don' t give a fuck | |
| I just cock back and bust | |
| With more arms than an octopus | |
| As if one gun wasn' t enough | |
| I fuck around and pull eight out | |
| Blast your face off or blow your brains out | |
| Nigga, I' ll leave you laid out | |
| Then I pull the gat in my waist out | |
| Put it in your mouth | |
| And keep squeezin till the whole clip is sparyed out | |
| Take the gun in my ankle brace out | |
| Shoot you in the stomach till I see the last meal you ate drain out | |
| Your face look spaced out | |
| I gut you like a trout | |
| And scream my name out while I' m scrapin your rib cage out | |
| Squeeze with the index, spray like a bottle of windex | |
| Bullets buzzin by your head like insects | |
| From your head to your midsec' | |
| And I ain' t even shoot you in the legs or your limbs or your dick yet | |
| Your masculinity is questionable | |
| You probably a homosexual | |
| Just the thought of havin a woman lay next to you probably threatens you | |
| You probably look at grapes and see testicles | |
| You probably fantasize about vegetables | |
| like cucumbers and bananas havin sex with you | |
| And you probably let gerbles crawl up your rectum too | |
| Shame on you | |
| I defecate on you and simultaneously urinate on you | |
| Pour some acid rain on you | |
| I stop your heartbeat with heat | |
| You weak nigga, I' ll leave your blood spillin in the street | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 3 Both | |
| Ayyo Journalist what you workin with? | |
| Old school burners with | |
| Barrels big enough for you head to fit in the | |
| circle shit | |
| What you holdin Canibus? | |
| 30 bulllet banana clips | |
| Just to handle a kick I gotta glue it to my hands and shit | |
| We got permits to murder shit | |
| We critically injure niggas who deserve the shit | |
| Put em in a tournaquet | |
| Bomb proof Suburbans with ? track to tread | |
| size? | |
| so we can ride through the dirt with it | |
| Drive over curbs with it | |
| ? in it, even over slippery surfaces | |
| We can swerve in it | |
| And crash into niggas who don' t insert their shit | |
| Try stoppin it dudes | |
| You gotta be bruised, cockin the tools | |
| And knock you out your socks and your shoes | |
| We' ll leave you shoeless and keep shootin | |
| Look how much life liquid you losin | |
| You need a blood transfusion | |
| In the back of a medic truck | |
| Shots in your neck and gut | |
| While we holdin our weapons up | |
| I' m still reppin' Philly what? | |
| blood spillin in the street | |
| the what? | |
| blood spillin in the street | |
| the what? | |
| Hook |
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