death dance
brotha lynch hung
til we run out the school
the school of hard knocks
bout to show you somethin' new
i'd rather have a jack knife and creep through the night
just ran out of my prozac
i'm supposed to have fat stacks
certain people in my life
it's hurtin' deep and i'm still fightin' to make a come up
it was a very bloody sight
i don't wanna see your hands
we tote glocks and punch holes in 'em like polka dots
i handle raps like i handle lacs
i handle this like i handle that
i got skills in this battle rap
you could meet me in the back
and we could spit shit like mini macs
how many times must i have to spit
and how many nines must i have to grip?
cuz i rip shit like a ice pick and i hit up your block quick
and if you can't see it you must got glock-coma
i'm sicc in the head and i'm not sober
i don't wanna see your hands
i'm try'na do damage to your soil
half you niggas can get your brains wrapped up
i'm hard-boiled like john woo
you must be off that dope and dog food
lookin' for the best route
sendin' out death certificates
i'ma be the next man to admit this
i had a close relationship with straight gin and mary j-uana
crooked like every daytona
smash out out in a glass house
i make you take a bath in cold water with heavy shoes
i'm that fool that rips it up
them other fools bad news
it's cold blue and i can make your body cold too
we got heavy right out the chevy
them other thangs is petty