I cramp your style
With a bullet and a smile
Ugh, niggas on the 
D-l casin' me out
Truckin' my jewels, feelin' for the tools
When they come they gots to come correct
Because they know 
I catch wreck
A well known wild street vet
Step into the kill zone, baby, it's on
I pack the twin nine mills that'll lift your dome
Chrome pump with double eyed slots and such
A fully-auto 
Mac-dime that is sure to touch
Ya, bust you with the 
Desert Eagle
Street legal, move against my people
And the Ice gets evil
Hit you with the .44 
Smith &Wesson
You're best to run 'cause my 
Tec eats pests
I got a glock with the laser, hot police taser
Step in real close, 
I hit your throat with the razor
You wanna live or die, it's your decision
Talk shit, you're dissin' 
I got you in my night vision
Brain fragments on the street released
Another nigga fronts hard, another nigga deceased
I got a H.
K., A.K. and a 
M-16A 12 gauge street sweeper with the circular clip
Quick to let projectiles fly, you die
And watch your fat moms cry, bull's eye
I cramp your style
With a bullet and a smile
What you think all the guns is for?
What's up, niggas don't seem to hear
Still lookin' crazy, let me make this clear
Fool, the 
Ice ain't havin' it
And when I let loose lead, believe 
I'm accurate
Fat scope on a [unverified]
Sawed-off double barrel and a pistol grip
Pump on my lap at all times
I fill my gauge shells with nickels and dimes
Thompson Center spittin' .45 slugs
Black Mac-11, 
Python .357, snub-nose .38 or .380
Seventy Automatic, full metal jackets
Hollow points comin' atcha fast
You feel the slug before you hear the blast
I cramp your style
With a bullet and a smile
Muthafuckas frontin' hard
Lookin' at niggas crazy and shit make a nigga break
Nigga don't want me to pull out
I don't like shootin' but 
I do shoot straight
Niggas I be rollin' with will shoot up a wake
Why you wanna step in the sights of a nigga
Known hair trigger, the coroner delivers
More cold bodies to the morgue each weekend
One minute you bleed, the next minute you're leakin'
Best to listen close 'cause this ain't no boast
And never forget that 
I leave you wet
Bloody, sticky, holes in your dickey's
Oh what a pity, lookin' all shitty
My Winchester will get the best of ya
Hand grenades will fade all the rest of ya
I reach out and touch you with the parabellum
You got a crew, you better tell 'em