Lyrics:
greasy haired goat with a switchblade heart
Time rolls on and a cold wind moans
Through the cemetery gates they're a calling me home
Rolling the bones by
(Hip-Hop Scratch)
Summer of 86' I was ten years old
(Punked a every three rock)
You know I got soul!
Mr magic BLS Screaming right out of the box
I
Yo what's beef to you, three niggas with hoodies and bats
That ain't shit compared to one small cat with gats
When we came here we cut off all kind
people ain't no room to breathe
Surrounded by murderous felons, drinks and bags of weed
I swing at ya and get fly with the M-I
I'm automatic trample in
Yo what's beef to you, three niggas with hoodies and bats
That ain't shit compared to one small cat with gats
When we came here we cut off all kind
?
I know your baby never hurt nobody
But he got his ass smoked at that Mustard party
Og Blood, everybody know me when I came in with the little
gotta show up
(yeah)
Shawty gon' suck me up until it's over (yeah)
She like a little pretzel, you can fold her
(Nah)
She got the twenty inches with
for sure [sure], hit 'em up, hit 'em hard, if you ready to roll. Niggas out tryin' to fuck with us, but I'm
givin' you one warnin'--that's a no-no.
Look at the cars as they roll by
Benz, Ferraris, trucks up high
Beepers connecting players to big-time deals
With all of this technology who needs
let you pass me
[The Lox]
Yo what's beef to you, three niggaz with hoodies and bats
That ain't shit compared to one small cat with gats
When we came
stick with ya in case them niggas outta pocket
I sat alone and prayed so many nights
White seats, white Rolls, I played so many nights
Hopped out with
view, too I ran out with a crowbar
Hammered it across his cranium, he fell over dead
But no blood, only dust, he's a fuckin' basehead
Here come another
Where the bloods wastin', a life taken
Chicago ain't a city it's a nation
As solid as my foundation within the mobster organization
If it's dope we
roarin'
Flyin' through the city with the pedal to the floor then
I put them 26 inches on the curb, tell the hood I'm back
Give me a corner, let me serve
Illegal, maybe Lethal, like Gibson's
Splittin blessings, with three Weapons
Lay in the cut like C-Sections, infestin the nine-six
For you mindless, niggaz I
the weed or pussy, I read books
I'm liable to mate'cha king with three rooks
You see the Wu W raised in black fists
Maybe Tony Touch, Concord needle will
a lesson
I cannot fuck with no peasant
I only rock VVS's
VVS's in my necklace
VVS's got me reckless
It's Gunna-Gunna, bitch you guessed it
I might say
of Stock
I hang myself while the stock markets crash
The city is covered in inches of muck
I see some other pictures of victims are up
Grieving
nobody
They hit your homie and they knocked the soul out him
They said that they would ride or die but ain't nobody roll 'bout him
Three felonies, ain't
to pay
Mr. Morris has entered the buffet
Some of y'all are sitting in bowls
Plates of the hot buttered rolls
Beat you with baloney, stab you with
descendants?
Or will the blood we shed begin an endless cycle of vengeance and death with no defendants?
I know the action in the street is excitin'
But
for me
First the one
And then came the two and three and four
Five, six, seven, shots from a MAC-11
Platinum producer killed by haters
Tonight
[Knoc-turn'al]
What'chu want?
What'chu want?
Get off me
I pull quick, it's useless
I'm fully clipped, 6 fo' fully dipped
Throw chrome whip with three
gettin' thinner
Shannon is cool but her mind is gone
One fat rock and it's goin' on
She had another buddy, came by my place
Thick ass bitch, said her
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