Shot Off

[Verse 1: Eightball] What kind of nigga always run his mouth like a hoe Like his jaw got a battery, this nigga always know Who got robbed, got shot, who got put on lock Nobody invited you and still you got up in the spot Me, I'm not a witness, keep my distance, mind my business You, somebody talk, you in they mouth like a dentist We keep it gangsta, mommas love it cause they know it's real Like UGK, "we keeps it real" mobbin' through the field Big Ball, Fatboy, unload heat when my brain spill You for it, images without no coke connect pills We keep it crunk and poppin' real niggaz know the deal We Bad Boys, anywhere we at we smoke and kill You try to stop it, get yo' shit broke up in twenty pieces We roll deep in brand new vehicles wit secret features Game preachers move yo' pimpin' for you mamasitas We players on the field, why'all niggas in them bleachers [Chorus: 8 ball: x2] You talkin' down behind my back (uh) you done shot off nigga Fifty, four or twenty sack, you done shot off nigga If you fly and got a gun (uh) when the drama come, you run You know what you just done, you done shot off nigga [Verse 2: MJG] Man, come on now, you done shot off just like Mike Davis lost a knockoff Or his tight-ass shirt when the button pop off You standin' it's snowin' you got yo' shoes and socks on Who holds the key? No fucking bout it, I broke the lock off I grew the top off, took the comma, period, dot off And ran on wit it and broke you a whole lot off I'm gettin' hot and startin' to boil, don't turn the pot off You just affected wit it, pimpin' yo, get yo' rocks off Release some pressure, stop all that cryin' and wipe ya snot off Excuses you be usin' for losin' it's cheap as hot sauce Earn yo' position, stop hatin' because you not boss M-J-G, pimp tight, I'm movin' yo' spot off And I don't reach, stoppin' yo' plans, fucking yo' plot off I go hard and I don't sheave and I'm not off And livin' on the edge rebellin' I'm never dropped off Like Aaron Hall, "Don't Be Afraid" bitch, call the cops off [Chorus: x2] [Verse 3: Ludacris] Now you can either check yo' ego at the do' (door) or let the drama unfold And check my Rap Sheet, bitch, I'm almost ten million sold I'm only rappin' cause I want to, I got enough plaques Needless to say, my favorite rappers told me to get on this track And so I DID it, quickly wrote my sixteen down and SPIT it By the end of the verse you'll say, "once again, Ludacris shit it" Then I'll wipe this wit yo' face and put yo' pride in the trash My whole career is like my video, I'm showin' my ass I keeps it, "gangsta, gangsta!" shooters and shanksters Until you shot off motherfuckers, I'm a "thank ya, thank ya!" Runnin' yo' mouth behind my back until you run out of time But at least yo' talkin' let's me know some millions stay on yo' mind It ain't nothin' wrong wit that Tell em grabbin' the thing and then I put it to yo' brain And change everything you ever hope for (for) wit the .44 You'll be fallin' back And Yacht, is what I'm drinkin' steady thinkin' bout these pinks chasin' I'm bout to bring home the bacon [Chorus: x4]