| All you sure ass niggas out here, got the game fucked up | |
| All this old friendly ass shit, nigga | |
| Ain't nothing friendly about the motherfucking game | |
| You understand me, if you listen | |
| I'ma tell you right | |
| Open your motherfucking ears | |
| Shit, it ain't fair but somebody got to do it, know | |
| I'msaying [Black Mike] | |
| I came from underground, where my hood resigned | |
| Nothing left but the bad and ugly cause the good done died | |
| We tried laying low niggas want to cross them lines | |
| So when I'm saying so you getting bumped off this time | |
| Fuck a throw away, | |
| I'm looking for the gun in your house | |
| To kill your family for some shit they ain't know nothing about | |
| We running the south, while other niggas running they mouth | |
| If you smart, you'll take cover cause we come in your route | |
| Cause when we ride you could best believe there's guns in sight | |
| How many times mama cried cause her sons done died | |
| I pull my nine out, all of my barrels are fouled out | |
| So the bullets that | |
| I bust the feds don't find out | |
| Which gun, which nigga, which figga points to the trigger man | |
| Still well connected not worried about who's the bigger man | |
| Z-Ro, my nigga man, | |
| Pharoah, the | |
| Killa Klan | |
| I'm Black | |
| Mike, Network for life, ain't no realer jam [Chorus] | |
| We make sure the dirty work get done | |
| Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton | |
| Scratch makers, nigga we killers | |
| Aggravated guerillas, been pimping in this bicth for scrilla | |
| We make sure the dirty work get done | |
| Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton | |
| Scratch makers, nigga we killers | |
| Putting heads on pillows | |
| Fuck around and weep like a willow, we cap peelers [Pharoah] | |
| King shots, killer greed penn, money hard | |
| Nigga to sleep, murdering a kingpin | |
| My composer, a soldier, you can call me one | |
| When it's time to ride you know | |
| I'm ready to activate my gun | |
| Straight head shots, toe tagged in a body bag | |
| And the outcome you stuck with, if | |
| I got to blast | |
| I'm coming to get you, pull your punk ass out the picture | |
| And fix the braids on your head, that means | |
| I'ma get richer | |
| P-H-A-R-O- | |
| A-H, now you know | |
| My motherfucking name | |
| I never play fake | |
| Easy does it, do it easy when | |
| I execute | |
| To that nigga and the darkside when my weapon shoot | |
| Shoot again and feel like | |
| I just made boy | |
| With no evidence, to be found | |
| I remain calm | |
| Murdering edition, | |
| I make a motherfucker disappear | |
| Slip the clip in, open fire then dripping him [Chorus] [Z-Ro] | |
| I put stitches in the general son of a bitch nigga when he bump up | |
| Running to the trunk for the pump, | |
| I'm already ready to dump | |
| I've been working dirty, knocking busters for being surety | |
| So I'm at your dome cussing like | |
| James, you ain't worthy | |
| Like a little old girly perpetrating a man | |
| Dude we taking over this bitch and here to demonstrate demands | |
| And bitch the down south gangsta | |
| R-A-P, 1990 | |
| Started with | |
| Street Military and | |
| K-A-G We toe tagging, body bagging, sagging and bragging | |
| Weed it up inflate it down, you damn shot and flipped the meat wagon | |
| So save me some son of a guns, when it's over | |
| We one of the ones on the top, haters smell it and running to come | |
| Trying to drop a dime on us, or trying to take us out | |
| After we deal with it we rap about it and then it make us hot | |
| Fuck your crime rate and murder rate, running up on | |
| Houston Texas | |
| Well it be fuck y'all for trying to funk us on a burning day [Chorus x2] |
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