Lyrics:
charge like chart, i want it all
The loot, the chronic, plus the dips
First nigga that flinches catch a
Bullet from my hip in a rage
Serving gauge with my
let's go)
Yeah,
Hold on', huh
Yeah no chorus twelve
Y'all know what the fuck goin' on
Twelve, twelve, twelve, fuck 12, nigga
Man the bitch ran up
it to the gutter we could duke or shoot it out
Switchblades pump gauge, whatever you about
Burn you to ya hood we could bang for the work
For
and girls for breakfast
You're a titan of the nuclear age
Your muscles flex with a Uzi or 12 gauge
And you love the game, that's why you boast
Because
Yeah
The Fat Gangsta
Here comes the nigga from the East
Who just been crowned for most hated by police
The public enemy rapper at large
question it
We gon' get the album done by the deadline
I'll talk to ya later, over and out brother
provide that world you’ve been living in
I couldn’t gauge every problem within
Hoping it wouldn’t hurt me again
(Guitar solo by Ëkoli))
the burn on the hip
I'm blowin on the deuce by the candy painted whip
I'ma grip my grain, and cock my gun
And show these mother fuckers how its done
When
Cause you got me curious, you probably look better when your dead
Nine by the spine, (5th in the holst)
Scum bag it's them D-Block boys, daddy kissin'
is wrong
Glaze finna get his mothafuckin' rap on
So would whack DJ's back up off the 12 gauges
Give him some room
While the boom from the stage is
Glory-holing fuck bitches
Leave pussy swollen
Im the broken table
That disabled all the fables
Leave ur shirt stained with
My 12 gauge close range
Slithering
and cage
Fair exchange clicked ya bow wid ya 12-gauge
It's time for me to do this shit for all my years hurtin'
See these other niggas bustin' raps that
Makaveli the Don puttin' it down to the fullest
Maximum overload
3 Day Theory, Killuminati to your body
With the impact of a 12 gauge shotty
Double-I
type flow
Woah
Me and crew, killing noobs and making mad dough
Piece to all the chads
All the brothers with no dads
Pistol grip gauge, blows his nads
We
wanna step to this?
I back 'em down with tha nickel-plated fifth, watch the hip
Look at your men, they all jumpin' ship
And I ain't even bring an extra
Tell 'em n**** talk s*** now
They think you know they gonna go baw
I ain't scared of the law
Now bout to go to war
What it is n**** where you lose ya
her water like a ship baby lets dip
She got them sexy ass hips them ghetto lips
Every time that we lays I gave her chips
Ya bitch will open her legs may
96'
Bro-bro got a stick
Wit a Chinese grip
Put the pressure on your lip
Like ya bit the shit
Let's hit arithmetic
1+2
Yeah
That's the three musketeers
jails
In the cell, countin' days in this livin' black hell
Do you feel me? Keys to ignition, use at your discretion
Roll with a 12 gauge pump for
of perversion, fuckin bitches on Persian rugs
Washin niggas like detergent, it's the surgeon
Slugs propels from Bobby Steele's 12 gauge
Front page, "Daily
To draw you in
Designed by the inside
For your precise skin
And when she grips, n when she holds, n when she spills it all
In the name of you
Collecting
bag if you want to get fucked up
Every diga little bitch made nigga
Start runnin when I'm playin with the trigga
An uzi a 12-gauge it really don't
guage mossberg
The nigga said "yo, what's for sale"
And the bitch came out with a bag of ya-yo
She made the drop and got the 20 dollars
From a smoked
and yellin
And tellin and look at this young punk bailin
I heard a knock on the door without the password
And her mom's got the 12 guage mossberg
The nigga
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