Lyrics:
So when it's over and ya bury me
Leave the mic in my hand so i died as an emcee
If my hat's to the left you can blame it on the hip hop
If I got
we die
Do or die in this bitch (This bitch)
Gonna hold me down
Now let me feel ya grip (Ya grip)
Let's take it slow
Girl take me home
Let's make it
and when ya see me in traffic just ride by
You should've been a pigeon
'cause you duck so well
but next time I catch you I'ma pluck yo' tail
They call me Layzie the Kid
Tha names Powder P
Can I get a 12 guage?
Outlawd everyday
On the front page
Now Mr. Kid
If you give me the lowdown
stay rested they nested
Mentally molested
They ain't got no protection while you sittin round waitin on elections
They stole yo rights
Now ya whole fam
by my side
You wont know if that shit bangs
I'll keep it by my side
You wont know if that shit bangs hoe
Ride, wit me on the edge of ya seat
You know
Ya Ya Straight from S.T.L. West Hell a nigga mane prevailed
blackhavenzone as well i walk alone on my trail
my niggaz and me got the house, and by
the rhyme
Just so I could break you off a piece of my mind
I'm cold, hot I could ice an oven
I'm back at it y'all still frontin
Got a 12 gauge I shoot by
and I'm the batter on deck boy
I'm always swinging for the fence, unless I'm swinging at ya head boy
12 gauge shotty that's my pet boy, and you don't wanna
my shit
First off yu a bitch
Secondly suck my dick
We still outside and ain't none of ya hit
Lemme get to the hip
Fore I could clutch it most of them
Caught by many, broke two fuckin' arms, son, engage for bail
Beat the case, got my big gauge, back as well
With rap, you can sing such amazing tales,
to me I'm an idol
Skinny as a rifle, load up my 12-gauge disciple
Make an example out of a rival, Tell him beat it like he Michael
Niggas crying cause I
a boulder never told ya
The M.O. was in control of
Oriental styles to compile or get with
Fiend as I hold the mic with a tight grip
Slipped
Ha, ha, ha
poop
But just rock, a by, rock, a by booboo
Let your fingers do the walkin, hey I'm talkin, yoohoo
Can ya, can ya hear me? Checka, checka 1-2
Ayo,
them hips
[Chorus]
I gotta get some
Shorty I ain't trippin' we could do whatever ya like
I gotta get some
We could see a movie, go to dinner, by
Yea
Mula
Ya'll in ya feelings while I'm in my bag
Run it up four by four on the track
Backing it up all I'm talking is facts
I ain't friendly you
a 12 gauge blast to the body
And it even knock you back if you stop me
Got rock try to copy you cant be me
Joe$ya mane the one and only you gon see me
rage
I just got a 12 guage
Keep thinking that you luke cage
Nigga you won't have a rib cage
I hate this new day and age
These rappers don't respect who
Vegas Strip
Judged by twelve, but oh well
If controversy sells
I'm about to clock a grip (whoo)
Do the math and count the
Months in a year nigga
Gave your
for ya
My heart pounding you can hear that through a broke steth
I'm in the booth spazzin' out til my last breath
I grip the mic and spit what's on my
pieces
And make ya death the sweetest
Punch a hole through ya cleavage
By the way how was Jesus
I hope you been baptized
Fucked up and meet ya maker, with
90, I mashed
Bullet holes all in my window from a 12-gauge blast
He was all on my ass, I had to think real fast
Hooked a left, all of a sudden heard
Done tripping get a grip and get ya weight up
Lane wide open easy like a lay-up
Craig Mack I'm in ya ear with the flavor
Heard that they still hating
bounce, roll to the skate ya rock
Hip to the hop and ya don't dare stop
Come alive party people, gimme what you got
I guess by now you can take a hunch
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