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Stepping up out the shadows I comes equipped to wreck |
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Hold up just a sec Coolio I'm on deck (Malika) |
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Yeap the diction is on point |
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Causing, friction when I flex up the jaw to hit the joint |
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That can actually give a blood mob like Gotti |
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Like the body cool, keep the strap up by the naughties |
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Niggie tripping why you beam us I don't step up with no bullshit |
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See that there it's clip for this stickup on the hip |
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Peep the correct way to get your pimp on |
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Let me hit the bong oh and my mind's quite strong |
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Wreck it nice and proper if it's on I'm finsta to stop her |
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If I'm swinging for the knockout, best believe I'm fits to drop her |
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Ninety-five's on popping, representing I keep stomping |
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Throw up my fists just like this when I'm mobbing |
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I killed the last, killed the ass, with my ninety-five drive |
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I'm deep like Denzel with my Crimson Tide, nigga |
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Like Chaka Khan, I tell you something good |
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I'm Hi-C like Spike Lee within Tales From the Hood |
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You need it, I'll feed it, baby check the size |
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Have you going down like Mary J. Blige |
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When it's popping like this, you can't be a coward |
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Shorty freaks fucking beats like Adina Howard |
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My squad is hard, with players, and hustlers |
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No toleration, for fakers and busters |
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Fucking with me with all honesty |
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You get bombed rap songs coming constantly |
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Bumping G-15's, Westside scene |
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Killing the competition, while making a fucking green |
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So ring, around the rosie, and mosey to the Rosie |
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And I want you to know G |
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We bust and cuss and kick up dust |
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Don't none of y'all niggas want to fuck with us |
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So what's the time? It's time to get real |
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Why you bust your rhyme? Cause I got skills |
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We bust and cuss and kick up dust |
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Don't none of y'all niggas want to fuck with us |
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So what's the time? It's time to get real |
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Why you bust your rhyme? Cause that's how I feel |
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Watch me, swallow this nickel and shit five pennies |
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I'm the loc'est of them all though the rat is kinda skinny |
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How many linny and squidgy think they can see me? |
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I'm from Compton where even in the summer niggas wear beanies |
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Busting lyrics sharper than razor blades catch it from head to toe |
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If you're shocked, then amazed, when you see me at my stage show |
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For I stage show beat em up |
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40 Thevz getting busy rocking coast to coast |
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Dogs the most rap the hoes then rocks em up |
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Giving it up for hip-hop victims how should I drop em and then pop em |
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For popping like to get what I got, and I ain't got a whole lot of nothing |
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Cause I been ruffing and scuffing so give it up when I'm busting or get to ducking |
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Cause I ain't given em nothing |
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Fools can't get none, so fuck em |
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Let me rock the motherfucking mic |
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Smoke a whole stick of dynamite, then fight all night |
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I got jabs like a welterweight champion |
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The pocket-pincher purse-snatcher pistol-packing |
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Quick to get it cracking |
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Went from jacking to rapping to running with a pack of mad men |
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Pull a trick out my sleeve like Aladdin |
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Some fool tried to play me for a punk I had to have him like |
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Lunch or dinner, he's just a beginner |
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Fucking with a winner, number one contender top dog |
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Head nigga in charge running with a group of hogs |
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40 Thevz, MAAD Circle, Cat, and Crowbar |
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Best to put your daughter |
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Wack ass rappers get tossed up |
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Trying to come in here with that garbage |
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My crew see the dopest and the hardest |
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So clear the path or get your punk ass Bogart-ed |
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We bust and cuss and kick up dust |
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Don't none of y'all niggas want to fuck with us |
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So what's the time? It's time to get real |
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Why you bust your rhyme? Cause we got skills |
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I peep game and get recognized, buying all the hard liquor |
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Toothpick and beedy-dying |
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Bitch you got dealt, peeled your cap the other way |
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Like a reversible Louis-Vitton Gucci belt |
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And ain't nothing cracking |
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For them niggas stepping up with the funk I'm packing Tinactin |
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Cause I be earning stripes in tight bunches |
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All the homies carry nines I carry rhymes in sucker punches |
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What? Tootsie, my knees don't bend |
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Just like that actor Hoffman I be Dustin off men often |
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Jaywalking over your coffin with an eleven shot loss and |
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John wrecked that Austin won't soften you're lost and |
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Cee-Arson, to exterminate the flyest nigga like Orkin |
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Stalking lofts men to New York and in between |
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So take caution, leave the flossing for dental hygiene |
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Mental plus my gene equals nasty young bastard |
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The raps be lung mastered takin vinyl's virginity |
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Coincidentally I run shit like Walter Payton |
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Niggas player hating cause I spoke like a Dayton |
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I kick the bass like Ron Carter at the Carter when |
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CMB came strolling |
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Blowing niggas up like when Mookie's stupid ass got caught smoking |
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Figure, your stigma is lack of enigma |
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So bitch-ass niggas better step, like the Delta Sigma Thetas |
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We don't give a fuck, fools better duck |
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39 deep in the back of Wino's truck |
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Like robbing in the paint, fool think I ain't? |
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Your crew is on stank, that's why I'm pulling rank |
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I rev like a motor float ON like a boat to |
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Kick a style like Tical from here to North Dakota |
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The ambassador of funk with amps in the trunk |
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And when it's time to rock a mic I won't be no punk |
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I bring death to the evil and power to the people |
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My name ain't Steve Miller but I Fly Like an Eagle |
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Don't play me for a chump, I get around like Gump |
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And I, got more con in my verse than Chuck |
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And you don't want no motherfucking problems here |
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Cause I can round up a posse like Paul Revere |
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Your whole crew'll get took out, turned out, shook out |
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Burned up like a cookout, so fools better look out |
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Fresh out the penalty box |
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Sporting a stocking cap, cut off dickies, and some high-top striped socks |
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The freestyle finatic psychosomatic back at it causing static |
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With lyrics still as tight as a straight jacket |
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The last in line but one of the first to get wit cha |
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Bringing more terror to MC's than a Michigan militia |
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Click click boom, nigga fuck your crew |
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It's the chanky hip-hopper, taking over pissing in your stage monitor |
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Socket you think that you can fuck with mine in your wildest dreams |
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You best to wake up and apologize |
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Niggas penitentiary yearn me cause I, burn like Parker |
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But anyway, half of y'all couldn't see me with a pair of Blu Blockers |
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The lyrical night stalker stalking at night in a pair of creased Khakis |
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Chuck Taylors, my pistol grip tight |
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Dub-C, that nigga from Westside MAAD Circle |
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Ay man! Ay ay |
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What's up Wino? |
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Uh like loc, it's like late, let's get the fuck up out of here |
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Are we out? |
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Yeah yeah fuck it |
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Fuck it, MAAD Circle bitch! |
