Lyrics:
pulls out a deuce deuce
Little did he know I had a loaded 12 gauge
One sucka dead L.A. Times front page
-Chorus-
(Punk, punk muthafuckaz like it ain't
don’t even need no foreign car
Pull up on your block in that yota and I lay it down
Silencer on the glock it don’t even make a sound
All these rappers
a cage with a little bit of rampage, disengage
Little page, overage, 12-gauge, shotty to the face, going blah-ba-ba
I'm the shit, that's a foul play,
act right lay low
We know where yo family live
Trust me you don't want me up in yo grill
Wit a ski mask on duct taping your kids
You can pray all
bangers and drive bys
Why do we die at an early age
He was so young but still a
Victim of the 12 gauge
My memories of a corpse
Mind full of sick thoughts
rifles and Tecs
And breakin' niggas' necks like bad checks
Outrageous with 12 gauges, 'L.A. Times' front pages
Leaving mingled bodies hangin' on stages
you get your shit sacks right where your dicks at,
And I don't think your clicks just supposed to forget that,
I gotta a gauge for that day you want
the slug from the 12 Guage pump, on chumps
Busting heads like pimples
Hit em in the temple, popping that mental
At the residential, ID'd by the dental
Dip in
For Movin, Must Have Been Some Confusion, When I Came In
Told You Lay The Fuck Down, Or Else These Bullets Cave In
Must Thought I Was Playin, I'm'a
a nigga just can't fuck me,
Nigga better have me cash,
Or I kill his whole family when the twelve gauge pump blast,
Now test me,
Never ever let a nigga
for you, oh yeah
Lay your body, lay your body, lay your body down
Lay your body, lay your body down
Lay your body, lay your body, lay your body
niggas think you really got them guts
To walk up to his house, knock on his door
Let 'em feel the buckshots of a twelve gauge
Backed up by an A-K
'Fore
If you hear old Hank rockin'
A 12 gauge cockin'
You don't have to call the cops on me
Go back to sleep
There's no need to be alarmed
I know it's
down for the boy D-mo
(Big Moe)
Its that nigga, nigga named M-o-e
I represent that Southside, yeah the 3
Hooked up with them boys off that Long Drive
You
around, you know I can't say no
Every time the sun goes down, I let you take control
I can feel the paradise before my world implodes
And tonight had
Yeah thats where I lay my head at
Cleveland Is where I stay
Talkin down on the land you can dead that
Cleveland is where I lay
Or this is where you
game in a strait jacket
12 gauge
In a shotgun racket
Shinbone, shindig, shimmy for the Shinto
Got to do this all alone
Wait
Better slow it down
its my turn to buss
And make weak muthafuckas turn to dust
And if you weak you die in the streets of Chi
Its deep drive by my bullets fly in the seat
coming
Gonna die in my arms, for what you did to my mother (my mama!)
Hundred dead bitches, (Lord) hundred black coffins (why?)
12 gauge, shotgun, chest
a leg
Doing donuts DT losing my tread
Catch me on BET in 'bout a year
They almost took me 12 gauge for a zip
Age number was thing Doug Will
Working OT
for now
But instead of hanging my head... I thought I wore you down
It's hard reaching out when I'm stretched too thin
So I talk too much and avoid
subscribers up then I'll do part two
Smash or pass on yats
But anyway, they say the 44 can't jam
So I think I'll smash
And I'll smash the 12 gauge
Even though
infinite length, with the strength of a real master
If you don't bow down now you'll get plowed down now
You know, like pow
Fuck around, lay around, do
you ain't taking shit
Unless you take whats coming with it
Tryna rob me for my money
Got the nuts to come and get it
Caught you sleeping with the 12
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