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Verse 1 |
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Mack 10 nutty as they come |
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leave 'em face down |
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and numb from the waist down |
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It's a Sunday a gun day |
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rollin' down a one way |
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in my 'lac front and back |
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over train tracks |
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On yak and herb nigga swerve |
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it get's on my nerves |
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banked my Danas on the curb |
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In the gutta lane |
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I'm butta man |
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Foot to the flo' |
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what you want from the sto' |
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I'm broke as a mutha****a nigga buy my single |
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comin' from Ingle (Foe Life) is my jingle |
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Seen yo' bitch at the sto' coulda took her |
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but niggas start to handcuff they hoes like T.J. Hooker |
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Fool I'ma vet you can bet |
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that I can dance underwater and not get wet |
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It's the nappy headed nigga that can kill and rap |
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everybody run when I bust a cap |
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puttin' Inglewood up on the map |
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look at what I do when I pull my strap |
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Bust 2 rounds nigga about to clown |
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bitch hit the silent alarm it's goin' down |
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Chorus |
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Foe life foe life |
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Mack 10 comin' through the hood with stripes |
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(Repeat) |
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Verse 2 |
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Khacki suit ski mask is my attire |
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with my luck cut my chucks on the barbed wire |
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Fool where ya keep the rims and tires |
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'fo yo' life expires I'm as nutty as Michael Myers |
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Didn't think about the Rottweiler |
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a lot of stiches in the ass |
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blood in the Impala |
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Sittin' in the County with a gold record |
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Ice Cube send me pictures of bitches naked |
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caught with a contraband in my hand |
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Mack 10 take the stand |
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your Honor I'ma changed man |
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so please let me go so I can flow |
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Got a show had to ask my P.O. can I go |
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and if he say no I'ma have to say |
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bitch get out the car slow |
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and leave ya ****in' dough |
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'cause a nigga gotta eat **** the world |
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let the bullets hurl and feed my baby girl |
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Chorus |
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Verse 3 |
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Call 911 there's a son of a bitch on the roof |
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yarned up in his birthday suit |
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(Mack 10 to the rescue) |
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my momma wanna know why I do what I do |
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'cause I'm superman superbad supermad superfly |
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fool you can die |
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There's gonna be a lot of cars with they lights on |
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and I'm at home sewing stripes on |
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Cause I'm the General and you's a stowaway |
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'bout to buck you down with this throw away |
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with no serial number it's the summer |
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where niggas die |
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It's hotter than July |
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You better stay low fo' you get a halo |
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plus wings and a gown when I come around |
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So take 10 paces |
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and try to guess the color of my shoelaces |
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Chorus with ad libs 'til end |
