Lyrics:
i'm like a dead end
You can't get nothing by me (Stop it)
I'm Nino Man, I keep shooters behind me
They knew how I was comin'
Already when 'Kiss signed
dodged the bullet that killed a cashier
My homie told me to come with him to the mass yea
Them brothers said "Don't go from written bars filled with rage
Outcasted to the shadows 'cause you don't look right
Hypnotized by the eyes from the average muthafucka
Chrome to his dome, if he cries, he's a busta
There's
you're down with Blaze ya dead homie
G Blood imbedded in street blocks
That's why I put it down, and blast with many shots
Bullet holes in my chest, it's
This crew don't feel pain, we Psychopathic, we can't be hurt, especially my dead homie Blaze. Tell me.....HOW THE HELL A DEAD MUTHAFUCKA GO'N DIE?!
to get 'em up with two thugs
Runnin' side by side with number one
Murder mo drop my gauge on 'em
When the po-po chase,
If they catch me barehanded I'm
They want me dead or Alive
(Dead or Alive)
You gotta watch ya back
For life
If you hit a stain on my side
You ain't even like that
You ain't really
You can hear it sing pop pop pop on em
Yo my homie Blaze got em amazed so many ways
Still the same dead guy from back in them days
Yeah
North side east side west side south side
Stand up
This for the whole city man
Even the burbs too
Ain't no discriminating you know
Ain't no
by snake eyes as the playa hate rise
New York state side to the West side
Fuck the best rhyme, best respect mine, from here
To Palestine watch Sunz
It's all Anybody Killa and Blaze Ya Dead Homie
Feel a little gust of wind and you're dead
'cause an axe just severed yo' head
And what about the bitch
head
Young Nigga from the hood
If you got to problem, what's good
Hip Hop ain't dead
Till I dump a whole clip thru ya head
I come thru on some other
on the dank that I hold ya
Ran out of Zags, get some more from the corner store
Seff the Gaffla, nineteen ninety Rappin' 4
It's the dank season for nineteen
ain't had pussy in eleven years
I been dead, ain't nobody shedding tears (No)
Look bitch I don't give a fuck about fame
Got cock for ya bitches,
ain't had pussy in eleven years
I been dead, ain't nobody shedding tears (No)
Look bitch I don't give a fuck about fame
Got cock for ya bitches,
Every motherfuckin' day homie
You stayed down when the other niggas didn't know me
From my heart to the trigger, you my fuckin' nigga
And things won't
of turning the other cheek, I get dead up in this bitch ass
Cause yo, this shit is real life
I'd rather be piped up in a box than be running from a steel
I wrote some raps that make sure that my lifeline
Reekin' the scent of a reaper, ensuring that my allegiance
With the other side may come soon
Uh
Uh
DJ Carnage times Thugger, you know what I'm sayin'?
Thugger times DJ Carnage, you know what I'm sayin'?
You know what I'm sayin' nigga?
Ya
eleven homie we never call
Wrestling with the pistols we not talking bout raw
Coming from a borough where n**** become violent
Others telling they stories
a way to shine (fast)
Can't get caught w/o it got this Nina by my side
Praying that I make it bacc home another time
Better go n get it homie get off
Scroll ya contacts hit a lan nigga line
Check up on ya boy see if a lan nigga fine
Too damn easy to get lost in my mind
Like time after time after
it's funny (Ya)
Who's laughing now as I'm making the money (Ya)
Blood bath I dont really want combat (It's Molasses)
Just rap I dont wanna make contact
of you with a smile ear to ear
summoned, called upon
from world to world
and now he leavin' with the souls of the boys and girls
*Blaze Ya Dead Homie
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