|
(Featuring Flipmode Squad) |
|
Baby Sham: |
|
Ay Yo |
|
Balls your pencils |
|
As hollow tips get in you |
|
Bots cutting to slice your face you |
|
Rhymes is natural |
|
Hold two lives and four wives |
|
Up in the crack capsule |
|
Flipmode cruddy styles has been past you |
|
Rush pass |
|
You couldn't touch cash |
|
If it was under your nose |
|
Like a mustache |
|
Nigga |
|
What ass |
|
Show your whole cheek |
|
Slugs with no heat |
|
Diamonds that don't break |
|
You thugs is so sweet |
|
Rampage: |
|
I flow so much I can see sick |
|
Flipmode is the squad who I bees with |
|
Who I get plucks with |
|
And push German V's with |
|
Rampage I'm psychic I can see shit |
|
To the next millenium |
|
You not gon be shit |
|
Scratch your name off the list |
|
Cut your wrist |
|
You know the issue |
|
I'm official |
|
When you die none of your niggas is really gon miss you |
|
Chorus: |
|
FLIPMODE SQUAD |
|
Here to drop bombs |
|
AGAINST ALL ODDS |
|
Still remain gods |
|
GRIP YOUR ARM |
|
We always come hard |
|
THE WORLD IS OURS |
|
Call a National Guard |
|
Rah Digga: |
|
Here we go |
|
Any bitch that rhyme wanna flex she ass |
|
I'm stomping all things like I'm plexi-glass |
|
Niggas make way like when they hear sorry's |
|
Treat you like park and too close to fire hydrants |
|
All up in the board |
|
Kicking back long islands |
|
Get your wig split first solid defiance |
|
Rah |
|
Earth and sun in this Imperial alliance |
|
You do the science |
|
Spliff Star: |
|
I'm getting money shitting |
|
Turn intruders into vixens |
|
Fall off |
|
Beeper uh-uh |
|
Niggas stay getting |
|
Dirty nigga for life |
|
That's how Spliff's living |
|
Throwing niggas in caskets |
|
Tired of a yellow ribbons |
|
I buck my duck |
|
If you touch my one |
|
Rather Jamaican than belly boy make you people for fun |
|
Fact my son |
|
Street educated |
|
The colonel of ghetto jurors |
|
Still thug related |
|
Chorus: |
|
Lord Have Mercy: |
|
We enemies of three strike felony laws |
|
Gorilla dicking |
|
K-Y jelly for whores |
|
Lapdances |
|
Trap grands without laws |
|
My baby moms |
|
Three eighty for your arms |
|
That bust with loud force |
|
The ghetto with us |
|
That bang makaveli and trucks |
|
That whatever the fuck to give a cheddar in chunks |
|
Who gazey chase |
|
Fake thugs with lazy aid |
|
Track marks |
|
Rap stars |
|
And a rain of aids |
|
Busta Rhymes: |
|
Yo |
|
What you want from us |
|
Now visualize more of us |
|
Stay toting under my given flavor from Nauticas |
|
Destroy every arch rival or any challenger |
|
Make you remember this day |
|
Nigga mark it on your calendar |
|
I'm showing you something |
|
You ain't saying nothing |
|
My niggas make noise |
|
Like a bunch of volcanoes erupting |
|
None of y'all niggas really wanna war |
|
The type of nigga to crack my plane in your building |
|
In the name of the law |
|
Chorus: |