Lyrics:
Aye, Ooh
I'm bout to run up a check, ooh
I'm bout to run up a check, ooh
I'm gon' get ice on my neck, I'm gonna get me a bust down Patek, ooh
I don't
video, bust you with a chair.
Smack, slap, smack, slap, smack, slap, smack.
Just to make it worse and hurt your pride I'll run it back,
Smack, slap,
on they necks 'til they can't breathe
Claim they five stars but sell you dreams
They say death multiplies by threes
Line them all up and let's just see
Fuck
drive-by I shoot
Blast their ass, smoke the spot like a genie
Many niggaz want to be one, but they don't want to see me
MACK the renegade rap rebel, ghetto
sincere creepin' through that grass
17C up on my hip, you reachin', I'ma bust your ass
All I rap , cap, yall never slidin, pussy boy, stop all at hiding
how you look a bull in the eyes and ándale em
That Fire Squad Fast Money shit all us
40 glock every hand count of 3 all bust
30 clip thats a dick make
like who say mad ass
verbal ammunition when I solve a blast ass I stash cash
assassination like Ras Kass
bitches and 10 hut
I'ma money making soldier
Atlanta
Dump that bitch in the river it don't matter
Still make moves on the street it don't stop
Still got the connects for the guns and crack rocks
Niggas
meio e bu ta morri fast
Ho ki nu ta pull up , balas ca ta sai yo ku nomi
Bu sta ku ez u gettin blast
I got mama prayin for me
cmd granny ta guian ,
on the Internet
Weirdo niggas in my comments
But we ain't into that
We was in there making it double
And tryna get it back
Bust a thousand traps all in it
And take
Shrieks of Sheiks as they run
Across the movie screen
A thousand sand dune soldiers led
By an Arabian Queen
And the harem girls move like fancy
that take none, nobody safe
From the Friday The 13th, ghetto Jason
Itchy trigger finger achin', snatch yo' ass
Out that S-class for fakin', forty
that S-Class for fakin, forty-fo' blast
is a bloodbath, take your first step down a thug path
Ain't no love here, just slugs here
Kids know the half
with the dope ass intro
I'm comin' and comin' with the style, see
It's 'bout time now ain't all business
I believe 'em without the nine
Downin' the 40
temptations, slap-boxed in the devil's cage
The globetrotter, spot rusher
I bust in your mouth like a gusher, it's Wu-Tang motherfucker!
"Iron Man," I cock my
illings will but hold up
It's a bust of the dough blow up
I bet that I make the world get these Nike's like sho nuff
[Chorus]
[Chorus]
[C-Bo]
bust triggers, who could fuck with us?
Dub, E-40, Christ Bearer, plus RZA
Stick you with the Blade, we gots to get paid
And for the moolah, we
Feel me
Liftin thugs out they crease it's quickly
Shift two keys in two weeks
And gross forty g's
Report me
And live shortly
Slouch cat livin off
from the pound
I bust by round by round by round and round
I'm in concert for serving niggas get yo ticket
I lock a nigga out, good cop giminy cricket
day jobs
Niggas glory holing and em bitches on the blow jobs
Let by gones be by gones but promise to always remember forty when al be gone
Bado mi ni
back around
E-40 Water held his ground
Kept my foot in the fast lane
Flew uppidy on mesmerized
'cause I snuck up in up out the game
You makin' a 40
Hey yo kid bust this, it's time to drop the flavour
I'm fly as can be, I'm rhymin' on my good behaviour
From New York City kickin' dope rhymes that
up ion the harbor wet
Read the beam with a flash of light kid blast to the afterlife
Lift off to the traffic light
Come through a nigga money better
the message resembled Brenda's Got a Baby
What's crazy was, I was hearin' about it
But doubted your ignorance, how could you ever
Just put her on blast
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