Lyrics:
p*****
We pros so we can't f***
With rookies, I'll put a n****
In a headlock and give him
A noggie, I ain't Mitch but
I'm getting rich like I f***
With Ace
you got 10 mill
I shine so bright I blind ya
Cross my crew, we'll find ya
It's a motherfuckin shame
My dominance to this game
I live for gun smoke aroma
badly, you want confusion, I mean it's useless
To step to this, we in effect we dangerous
Contain the mental murderous and ain't afraid to diss
We
Bitch, I'm smoking gas in my chambers like it's the
We're sorry, your lyric could not be completed because
"Ay you LIL DARKIE, nigga?"
And we
I'm blessed
Even though I get slammed with lawsuits like car doors
See three P.O.'s like Star Wars
They want me by the road holdin' up cardboard
So
pablo
Before I ever do some time like chapo
What the fuck u think I keep this glock for
Me against the wc6cc in p.i orld like I'm the 95' Pac ho
How you
So what you doing
I want to hook up tonight
Let's get some drinks
And we can get drunk tonight
Call your girls
So we can hook up tonight
And let's
to it
Sacrificed stability to flex our ability
crew, the iller artillery
I can't chill until we fulfill the plan of having mic's in the hand
The sole
[Background] "I see the horizon the Grate Unknown"
[Ruck]
I'm telling you man cut it out
Yo...we embarked on this nocturnal excursion in order
the private trackers
Upload the utmost P2P cutthroats
Uh oh, we didn't allocate enough floats
Have an upboat!
This isn't a crash by fast learners
This is
of that gangsta funk
Some of that ghetto funk, ha
Call it what you want, just don't forget the G, haha
The motherfuckin' Dogg Pound in the house
Now
And prolly with the same ones
I come in this game with, Im Mobbin' with
All my niggas thorough from DC, to Cali shit
V-A to P-A, to G-A to D-E, to D-A
Want
the judge was Kurupt
She was caught with Pete Rocks, and never handcuffed
Called up her Uncle Luke, whose Crew was 2 Live
That had some Peter Gunz, like
of the hardest artists in the world
Freedom of speech got me preaching to every G on the street
We got to eat so fuck the P.D. three striking me
Not liking me want
Yo, BBK, hundred million sBTv
We're going in 2012 shit
To those who don't know me hello
You think you control me, no
I'm one of the best artists in
Yo, You want war then you got it
see V I be Frontline with guns in our pockets
You want war then it's over for you
We got soldiers with tools that's
[Verse 1:]
We be the live ones
You don't want to try son
Cause the rhyme come
Like a nine gun
You can die young
Hide lungs
Til the seventh sign come
really got to give
Damn I want to live in 2-1-3
[Chorus]
It's the Dub S.C. on G parolee
And although deez steadily grinding for cheese
Trunk fulla
Spit that blood out and get back up on your feet
You called me I was there on some Candyman shit
Wear that ass out in front your kids and your bitch
wanna sign us, you corny
Tell your hoes swallow two of these nuts and call us in the mornin
We the answer, to the dance floor please
You gotta fuck us all
to motherfuckin' hurtcha,P
We checked in date of 1989
Intertwined with some chips to sign
On the little dotted line
It was lovely and the DeNiro was clean
Verse One:
Live the life of luxury
Chilling just my folks and me,
Being all that we can be
Loaded like an armory;
Fire's all I keep with me
Vodka
the spot live
Aye
Yea
They want me locked in
I'm tryna be top two fuck a top five
Ooh
Put It on your mama promise ima get them M's
Aye
Get the Cartier
Denny's and conduct symphonies
You fuckin with me, you won't live to see tomorrow, faggot!
I keep it gangsta, storin bodies in a dusty attic
You can't talk
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