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Hit the dank and took my glock off lock, and off |
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To the 21st blocc, |
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I’m rollin in a drop top |
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Three for zero that black criminal mac mac ****** |
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That pap! pap! me humming a couple of rounds |
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And while |
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I test him, hey ****** a |
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Smith & Wesson |
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I got my, nine at my chest and |
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I got my dime bag |
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Of stress ******, a 40 oz. of |
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OE and I’m creepin |
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Up on some ******s in a mob and a ****** claimin |
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OG, Pap! hit him in that dome and it was that ******’s worst |
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Put him on the ground wit a brain, full o’ dem nine slugs |
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So wrap that ****** up, put him in a hearse |
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And I’m hittin 50, right around that curb, tight, |
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Rollin up in a 64, 4 doors sideways to the next light (YOU KNOW) |
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An I hit that corner of 24 street, some ****** mean mugging |
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Lynch, and |
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I pop in a clip and |
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I’m not finna get got, |
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I’ma shoot before |
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I’m shot for the fact |
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I’m B-U-Double |
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D-E-D I’m reaching up in my glove box, for the welfare ****** |
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That’s fillin a ******’s siccness so witness dead bodies |
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In an, oldsmobile, up on the curb and while |
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I’m skirtin |
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Pass the view wit an empty 9 and some bourbon (riiight) |
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I just adjust to the fact that ******s aint got no hope |
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I’m fillin em up with 16s, and letting em know |
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Chorus It’s either that die, or that sickness, and it’s the ****** that ****** that |
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One you come see, with that 9 millimeter meter watch them 9 millimeter meat |
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Wikkihdie come, |
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Wikkihtah come, |
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Wikkihtah come, |
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Wikkihtah |
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E-drop, styling, |
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If It don’t get you with me nina then me, use 3,18's,pop ****** not mind not know finned to do |
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Without them gun shell, firing, for* them don’t know me when me high off them doja* killa ******, me take-a me nine millimeter nine, |
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And me blast them, enemies for den them be dying, cuz of dat siccness then crea...... ..ated by me and them say |
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Load up that nina* |
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I’m finna finna go pull |
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Them boys getting out them nine cut them in half with some of them |
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Ripgut, quality, for the fundamental cannibalism |
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Got them black enemy runnin in and when them, |
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Sickness kick in a million, baby dying, buck! |
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Hit em with my |
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G like every day, ******, |
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From the creek to the |
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Garden Blocc, |
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I was creepin from the double dead red till all the drama stop, |
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And 50 150 is all that shouldn’t even be on a ******s list |
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Cuz since for the ****** with |
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I’ve been crazy times 666 and um, |
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******s cant see my folk when |
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I dump them .44 slugs all down they throat |
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It takes one time, all night, to peel your tonsols |
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From the phone post, you know, |
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All up in the cut with the real deuce deuce four love |
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I got But you know that ****** from the creek so peep at what this trigger got |
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Come follow me sin, come quick cuz |
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I’m bustin all up on your, blocc |
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Shakin up yo nuts like dice deuce four in the don’t strike twice |
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Them gon all go say “oh” about 44 times till so, |
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Much later than you go, better off dead, but ****** instead |
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That I let your mama know, she might wanna follow this |
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Fahlivum ******t |
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Cuz a ****** wont last much longer, with wraps in the cut |
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Chewin all on your nuts like my ****** |
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Jeffrey Dahlmer, |
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Cant load that ******t that sickness gets me harder than a corpse |
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Till I reach for the greeds that ****** start jackin off until it hurts |
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Swallow my ******t so thick this ****** run loccs up on you almost daily |
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For the digs then |
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I’m off ****** grow soft with lynch |
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I’m chewin up babies |
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We gonna stay sicc, for the crazy run em up gospel ******t kicks in |
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It’s the ****** named 6 with the locc to the brain style fix |
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Eatin up your dead skin |
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Chorus |