Brotha Lynch Hung Album

[No lyrics]

[No lyrics]

(chorus) x2
Die!!!, I choose before you
One by one we will pick you
You will die!!!
(f**k it....psychological)

Verse one:
Siccmade music comin up out yo seat
Catch the reeper night crawler creeper
Dig a ditch get a bitch nigga dig a ditch deeper
I'ma take yo head with this street sweeper
Leave yo brains on yo speaker
Smash off in yo jeep
Do the bitches i'ma get real hostle
Get the signal model in stroddle
Smash down on the throddle
More scratch than lucky luciano
Serve more mutha f**kas than gronnup
Creep up on ya like dunnup
Send on to ya forehead and then like they said I fled
Cause I'm the type of nigga that'll leave a horse head in ya bed
Take ya wife rape her no caper
Tie the bitch to the bed
Don't push me cause I'm close to the edge
Real lunatic and sicc-fed
And thats some sentimental shit
I just might drip cream from my dick
When I'm off that
Smirnoff gin mix with o.e. I'm hard and wet
O.e. kept tellin' me no
But this smirnoff gin kept tellin' me yes
Mess maker raper
All about my paper
Throw yo hands over yo eyes
As yo thoughts intensify yo will (die!!!)

(chorus) x2

(deep voice)
Greetings..have a seat
Let me be the first to actually greet you to the basement
We've heard you've been busy
Ahaha we've heard you've been busy
We've learn from above that you've been
Doin' a little bit of this


Doin' a little bit of that
Stealing peoples scratch
Stabbin' in the back
We don't think it's fair !
When we found you you were nothing
Now you are our nothing
Is there room for unrest
Die.... you will !!!

(chorus)
I promise

Verse two:
I'm wes craven on paper
So plug yo pussy clips
Cause I get sicker than a sifilous dick
And yo mama won't like my shit nigga
Admit if you was sittin up in yo room hi
Loaded up in yo tape deck ready to write yo tape next
Me I do hot sex
Razor blade and alcohol swarzanigga ceremonial ripsneck
Then I write my shit next
So feel yo insides and yo intestins when you mix me wit
The wisky tell'em situation risky wit a nailgun through
Yo eye you will
I got this endo suckin me dry
I got this slut bitch suckin me dry
Bout to wet the bed up
It was the perfect setup
Bloody sheets (bloody sheets)
No body (no body)
No murder weapon
I got this endo suckin me dry
I got this slut bitch suckin me dry
It was the perfect setup
Bout to wet the bed up
Bloody sheets
No body (no body)
No murder weapon

(chorus) x4
Thats why we die x8

Thats my name don't wear it out
You don't know about my whereabouts

[No lyrics]

(feat. E-40, First Degree, Twamp Dog)

[Lynch:]
The only one who ever saw my face, I must erase, had to get filthy dirty
Left him in his driveway soaking wet, hope nobody heard me
I'm out that muthafucka with about 4 pounds of that Shamrock
Zip lock, body bag, toe tag, wet T-shirt, black mask
In and out fast, murderous, vast vigorous
Stroke that nigga like a zig zag rolled cigarette,
and I do it to get my dick wet
Brain grain rotten, I was a 12 year old gettin' raped by my momma's partner
So I've been in pussy since I could start nuttin'
I'm off that Cloraseptic and that Robatussin
Had a appetite for the wrong nigga, said he was real meat but I knew he wasn't
Had me dumpin' out the back of Cadillac's on Walter
Got a stinky smell to him, can't even hug my momma
I'm so sick I can't sleep at night, might swallow my tongue
Get all the gas deposits out the closet, let the water run
Get the flame thrower, lighter fluid, paper plates, cuz we barbacuin'
In a funky situation that's how we do it

[Chorus:]
Situation, baby it seems I'm in a situation again
I fuckin' realize it's a situation of sin
Sometimes I just wanna stop tryin'
Why must this shit always involve dying?
Songtexte
[E-40:]
Runnin' shit like Sosza, Big Bank Hank
Smebbin' in a high performance zooped up Nova, pushin' crank
Callin' shots on my gossipper, faulty chip
1-800 locker number, on the left side of my hip
Neighborhood watch better watch that ass
I'm a paperboy and I collects that cash
One more muthafuckin' complaint and your ass ain't gon' last
On a block where I clock cash so fast
This is a stick up, nigga, don't even try it
If you go as far as to blink an eye, muthafucka you gon' die
Pressure I apply, no lie, I got just finished doin' 10
For what? For killin' my best friend
And I'll murder again if I'm forced, then I must
After the first time the second time was a rush
What about the third time? The third time felt like sex
What kind of guns did you use? Choppers, Uzis, Teks
Whatever one works best
I'll make a mess upon shooting flesh, 'bout 15 holes in his chest
Vandalism, taggin' all muthafuckas names on the wall
Scandalism, dyin' over all kinds of senseless shit that's small
Auto theft, stealin' cars for fun
Snatchin' purses cuz I'm young and dumb
If you a tourist check yo' map, don't make the wrong turn
Might end up in the hood where you gon' be learnin'

[CHORUS]

[First Degree:]
Rock it, don't stop it, rock it, don't stop
I got this dirty yemp distributin' my womp
But if it was up to her, fool we'd be fuckin' like beavers
But I'm an over achiever around these heaters
I don't need a bitch, society done fucked up and cheated that bitch
Now she lookin' for a nigga like me to feed her and shit
Dumb bitch better quit, that muthafucka First Degree keep a leash on his dick
Take notes, sit by the poor folks, I tell you 'bout my strokes
But I done been gave that up, ain't healthy no more
Cuz a this yappin' and feelin', she strapped with the homies
And her weak mind got all of Sacramento in a bind
Lizzy Ann must die, the situation just ain't right
Cuz she got to bumpin' her gums like her momma, so I called her
I said I got mines, get off your ass and raise your daughter

[Twamp Dog:]
Peniles at my door, three in the front, nigga, four through the back
Talkin' bout takin' me down to the Sac town county jail,
strapped up cuz I did a jack
Armed and dangerous, waited 6 months to come and get me
Knowin' I'm into straps, cuz every time I get caught one was sittin' with me
2 time before this, now add one more to the program quick
Shackled down, now I'm on a mission to a one man cell with the quickness
Think about the work that I did that night and what went wrong,
to get a rider caught
30G bail cost to get me off, fightin' on the street, fuckin' watched
Every 2 weeks another court date, thinkin' I can win, that's no lie
Kept on goin' on for some months, lookin' the judge right in the eyes
Feelin' his anger,
watched fools before me do petty crimes and he's givin' 'em time
Bein' a bitch about muggin' on me, nigga talkin' shit to me, heated like
Pointing guns at individuals, huh, I despise muthafuckas like you
So it ain't no love for me judgin' you, watcha gon' do?
Take it to another court room?
And that's the first step for me, my lawyer knew the D.A.
You know, so he tried to hook a brother up, you see
If I did take a deal, it's only one year guaranteed
But I'm bout to give work for dough in a couple more weeks
Tryin' to give 10 years, if I go to trial and lose the muthafucka
Then I messed around and had to go back to the first judge,
sayin' don't work for ya
I wasn't gettin' off that easy, my case had a little substance
And the odds are stacked against me, no frontin'
Choices need to be made on the 7th
A catch 22 in my midst, cuz either way I'm fucked
Go to trial where I'll probably lose, or take my ass on the run
Or take a deal to a lesser charge, either one I'm gettin' struck
Cuz doin' time is a mando thang and that got a muthafucka stuck

[CHORUS]

They told me to get my heat so I got mine them mothaf**kas that made that hit
Now we only got the mini mack in the trunk sawed off and the 45th but im
Confident that we handled funk like mothaf**kin g's so all you bitches and
Snitches get ditches when my triple finga itches it's vicious for some reason im
Still in that season all them other mothaf**kas done left shmother motha f**kas
To death other motherf**kas done shlept long hit off the kryptonite and get
Gone hit em' up two in the dome is it yo funeral home alone had love for them
Once went and this shit got grim killin me softly it's costly jack they chin if


They eminem bend 1dial1 800 o gold and you picture me surrounded by fifty
Pounds of round meat grade a beef it ain't cheap I got that shit that'll make yo
Weak minds upchuck upchuck yo guts cut and I had yo nuts wasup you was locked
Down so I f**ked yo bitch gave you that sifilis dick loop the music made sick
Dont slip trump tight murder on sight split ya dome hit ya home at night move
In the dark with
Infrared lights you die then ima do yo wife ima leave you hangin on yo doorstep
Had your wife ass butt naked razor blade braids from the ass to the neck

(feat. Phonk Beta)

[Lynch:]
I feel my nut sacs loadin' up
Get off the freeway at Broadway with saccage like a muthafucka
Gots to parlay, I was off that Alize like everyday
I was on stuck, hoes ain't shit
So I fucked that bitch in the back of the cut and got the fuck up
Saw my nigga Phonk Beta, picked him up
He had a fat sac of bomb and a blunt, I was like 'roll it up'
Now I'm twisted, with a pit's grip on the Alize
And two miles away from a top notch I met the other day
Groom yourself, I'm on my way over
In my brother's cocaine white Nova
Shift kit, high rise intake, man, a 4-3-50 motor
Now you know this wasn't no bitch
She had a nigga nuttin' quick and she could suck a good dick
I was all up in it, situation was faulty
Had to report back to the captain, and she told him she never saw me
No matter what you saw about that hoe
She said 'meet me at the mo-mo' and she told you she didn't go

[Chorus:]
Once upon a time, once upon a time
And we did it, and we did it
Once upon a time, once upon a time
SongtexteAnd she said it was cool

[Phonk Beta:]
Cuz she's a bitch, whatever would I love a hoe for?
I bust a nut and then I'ma cut right out the back door
Didn't know she had a funky rotten pussy
They could be strapped at the sideshow, check it out
Nowadays you better be strapped before you tap that ass
If not she'll have you pissin' out broken glass
Ain't that a bitch, she got you stuck with a shot in the butt
Was it really worth a nut? Check it out
What about that dummy, that one that got hooked on marijuana
Got her budded, and she nutted, we both was in the sauna
One nigga mobbed to the store for ya Donna
Well clean the wax out ya ears and hear the drama
Cuz I'ma tell it the way it couldn't be told,
sold it the way it couldn't be sold
Nigga who you talkin' bout? Bout these young sweet hoes
So tick tock, it don't stop the hustle
Donna went down lip locked on my love muscle
I'm JB the Beta manipulator, let me begin
If my dick is in your mouth then my balls is on your chin
Balls is on your chin, the pubic hairs is up your nose
I'm that nigga that gives and you that nigga that blows

[CHORUS]

[Brotha Lynch:]
Around the corner from me
Light skinned, packed, she stood
Muggin' like a maniac in a straight jacket
It was on and crackin'
Knowin' I shouldn't be late night fuckin' with that shit
But I was off this Perry Mason bout to act like Jason
It was Friday the 13th, my day to work meat
A pack of Blacks, and a half a 20 sac of the Thai and some O.E.
You know me, I fuck long and nut long
Hit you in the face with some of that silky,
hot and sicc and make you mind strong
Grab your knees and let me lean back
I'ma grip your clit with my lips
And motivate, coordinate 'g' shit
Speak Japanese up in your shit
Watch it all ease up out your shit
And we did it, and did it, and did it......

[CHORUS]

Two years ago, a friend of mine
told me to write me a tight ass rhyme
and so I, I wrote this rhyme that I am about to say
the rhyme is tight and it went this way
And I'm on my briefcase wit some crumbled weed
shystie niggas keep staring at me
I had my 45 and my 44
i put one on my briefcase so them niggas'll know
lives get took
that's it just like a book
do you want a meathook
smoke a fat blunt on my couch wit my feet up while you get took
fo yo skrill
hundred dolla bill
take yo pill muthafucka
while you bullshitin dis shit is real
i ain't no twelve inch
can't mix me up in this shit
i got full clips
and alone i do my shit
so trust me you information faulty
and i wouldn't eat you cause your meat's too salty
i'd rather, step through a fire ring wit some gasoline draws than fuck wit you
cause you the type of nigga that'll tell'em everything you saw, wit my
big bad forty auto mag
twenty sac nigga get yo money back if you don't think you of that sliznack
Songtextemotivated, totally undominated
i got that sickness and the remedy, my momma made it
easy fo me i didn't have to work
fourteen years old in the backseat drinkin o.e. like kirk

now just the other day a friend of mine
told me to write me a tight ass rhyme
and so i, i wrote this ryhme that i'm about to say
the rhyme is tight and it went this way
i know it's been a long time, i shouldn't left you
without a tight rhyme to step to
think of all them weak ass albums you slept through
well i'm yo medicine, sorry i kept you
went to my brother's house, without a doubt
twisted one up with the nigga, smoked'em out
got to writin some of dat sicc made my own bacc fade type script
high enough to write a whole career full of shit
i mean blitzed, toe up, drug cost up, ready to fuck, throw up
man i got my cheddah cheese ass nigga know what
i don't hold no grudges i just ain't fuckin wit you no mo, mission stay
sicc made and don't let nothin penetrate my barracade
barracade barracade barracade, barracade

(feat. Loki)

[Lynch:]
Now I'm the type of nigga that'll leave a horse head in ya bed
Sleep with ya wife, then commence to knifin'
Get away clean with the scheme glock 17 in my lap
As I creep away in the black Cadillac
Cuz you know I got shit to do
Fake ID, cuz I been murderin' muthafuckas like HIV
As I creep real slow through your blood vessels
Five weeks later, nigga, God bless you
Now I'm stressed with the Smith & Wess
My music career ain't been the best
Bound to have my momma wearin' a tight dress
Bitch make my money right
Or get ya throat slit an drug in the bushes as ya inside gushes
Then I'm smashin' through the night, Mozzaradi with Cauz
He hittin' corners hella tight
Nigga you know I'm right
My momma taught me, nigga don't give a fuck
And when I die, crumble me in a joint and smoke me up
That's what said

[Loki:]
I'm high up off the hocus poucus
My diagnosis is a murderous psychosis, and muthafuckas know this
SongtexteI'm quick to pull the pin up out the grenade
And hand you the pineapple and say here muthafucka, hold this
Loki and the murder show, the sequence begins with freaks in the mo-mo
We seein' alibi's provided, we frequent, and now my niggas ridin'
Slip clips in the pen, and do that shit, smoke the buddah shit
See when they say siccmade, whispers in your ear, the taste is bitter
Blowin' muthafuckas into smithers
Triple X liquor, with nuthin' but curse in our verses
Obscene, unfit for major mainstream magazines
Lace you up in kerosene and see that ass ignited
I mean we got the V-8 for your gangsta lean
I seen war machines and street marines
Dirty nina's in the hands of ghetto fiends
I'm caught between the hard life and ghetto dreams
I got schemes with black berets and get away like O.J., clean
The ripgut, he got the cannibalistic QZ, and the illegitimate got another 16
You see the front page news only show the inmates, and not the cage
While elections play with the public's rage
Fuck those who criticize, let 'em lead their lives through the shit we done
And then say that we ain't right
That's what I said

[Lynch:]
Black pits in the backyard, I don't feed 'em
Hafta buy a pit a week cuz gone eatin'
Off that Mad Dog 20/20 I'm bout to take my money
Ski mask, gotta manage, better take advantage
Understand this, radiation and mushroom blast
It's almost 20G, I gotta plot my shit and get my cash
D-Dub around the corner in the Impala
Zigg Zagg in the trash can with the auto mag last time I saw her
Beta, stand look out by the liquor store
Loki, you hear some movement, nigga you know, do that hoe
Time's murder so I'm time plottin'
Creep with a hand cannon, takin' out every nigga banstandin'
Cuz I'm aggressive like a wolverine
Beta done caught that ass and got the gasoline
Hot out your worstest dream
Then it all adds up to sittin' in Hawaii
with a AK on my lap off that puffy stuff
That's what I said

(feat. Swartzaniggaz)

[Lynch:]
Feel my nature rise, blood shot red eyes
Waitin' in your back seat, catch you by surprise
Situations and circumstances make you take them dangerous chances
Leave you in your front seat with your neck slit, then I'm hittin' fences
Now I'ma talk about the same dirty situation
Shit you hatin', that's why your casket is waitin'
Shine your ass up like a triple gold Dayton
When I'm in your town you better cut like Walter Payton
Studio man keep tapin', I got that bitch, she peratratin'
Show your whole family, leave you on your front porch hangin'
With a note that's saying: 'sincerely, Swartzaniggaz'
Put your hands in your pocket, give it up
I demand I need my tweed, potent refer, man
Bandstandin' with the hand cannon
Split my face, muthafucka, gimme your scrill
And that Rolex in your hand, understand?
Yeah, you gots to feel my nature rise

[Swartzaniggaz:]
I can feel my nature rise
Starin' at the marks that I despise
Through evil eyes, high style thoughts turn homicides
You gots to die, for tryna ride and get me
SongtexteGot some off, but none of them hit me
Now on a payback tip, with a patched black mask
On the grass with a 50 caliber weapon
Hangin' up over the door of the Chev and causin' slaughter
Sid's Malt Liquor be that motive when I be loaded off that water
Saw the situation heavy rollin'
Shotgun and a Chevy that's stolen
Strapped up and ready in case these niggas wanna get deadly
We can go there, I know there's a place for busta niggas like ya'll
But I heard it's pretty deep down so you niggas better watch your fall
Too late for that 911 call, this murder's already in progress
Home invasions like Asian got me obsessed like a Vietnam vet
As I kick through the front door, blastin'
And Lynch kicked down the back
Operation: Peel-a-cap, you fools shoulda already had your gats loaded
Cuz it ain't no tellin' when we comin'
Back streets, sacs of weed get blazed as we gunnin' with the engine still
runnin'
Cuz real killers make them real quick get aways
Spray the whole place and skirt
As quick as we can, we does our dirt
Whoever gets hurt, that's business
So please don't take this personal
It's just that murder's in my nature
So four years now, that's what I've been searchin' for
Cuz doin' dirt grows old when it's the same old thing
That's why I try to take my murders to the highest extreme
Make everybody scream, open up some spleens
Still hearin' the blood spillin'
It's just a little dream that I be havin'
Man, I love killin'

[Brotha Lynch:]
I got a hard dick for killin'
Southside villain
Protect your wife and your children
Feel my nature rise

[Swartzaniggaz:]
Not quite knowin' about this nigga?
Check your metro sections
Then cross reference murders by streets and dates
And how many times niggas' hoes' got raped
Mr. No Prints, the reason one time runs out of yellow tape
Fuckin' with a half deck, havin' niggas on hush
Smokin' a bowl that I re-dust
Open up your chest when I bust
So suit up, cuz it's kill a nigga night
Ain't no tellin' when Triple 6 gets to shootin' up
Movin' up your death date, with a Tre-8 special
It's way too late to wrestle, as I nestle the sword stoppers
Split your ass open like pinata
Loadin' up like a Rotweiler
Lining up like Tyson snortin' cocaine powder
Pure dank sniffer, some like a lot of fluid, but I beg to differ
One wiff of that shit and I'm on cloud nine
Nigga, don't trip if you ain't got no nuts
Cuz I brought mine all buffed and shined
Untouchable when I'm fuckin' full of that nitrate wine
That's when I bust on nineteen times and up
Cuz I'm nuts, goin' out my mind
Few, there's no luck, you fucked for life, for sho'
Get your ass up on the floor
Tryin' to catch me at that lateral, slippin'
By my lonesome, but I'm on some, so who wants some?
Fresh out the gates, ain't no room to make mistakes
Try to make my tapes, but I feel the hoe hate
Tuck my dick inside in the O-8
Must of been the way the clip mate with the .45
No body, no case
Taste the meat, can't wait to eat
Keep the street dirty, keep sturdy in your face

[Swartzaniggaz:]
Ya'll niggas don't wanna feel my nature rise
Cuz I get dirty, shoot up shit with my Clint Eastwood
Leave your neighborhood lookin' like a ghost town, nigga
You standin' on dangerous grounds
When we come to Sac, better have your automatics on loaded status
Cuz me and my niggas be on the savage, leavin' no prints
Not givin' ya'll niggas a inch, cuz I'ma lynch you
Fry your guts like Sizziline
Have your homie reminiscing' about your gangsta lean
Nigga, it ain't no fuckin' with my clique
You can dial 911, but it ain't no rescue
Man, I hope the dear Lord bless you
Next to this nigga, ain't no one's nuts bigger
Clutch your guts nigga, fuckin' with this Swartzanigga
Cuz I done lost it, taggin' niggas like a pit bull with rabies
Gone off 40 ounces of O.E.
Creepin' up on you, like doin' my Magnum P.I.
Lazy Eye with Lil' Blacc Mile
Smokin' a hard dick for killin'

I was rollin' through the hood one day
Thought shit den calmed down,
"Gang-bangin'" den played out by the years since I den been around
Ain't talked to nobody from my block
Cause all my niggas is locked up
And it's been all ever I seen wit a guillotine
So I was in the "Cut Supreme"
Fifteen grams and some "greenodine"
Ain't seen a block nigga since
But now I'm off that kill green
(Mothtafuckas ain't got no love for me)
(Niggas wanna put some slugs in me)
So I'm double 0 seven, murder redrum wit my three fifty seven
Brotha Lynch Hung, but the bitches call me Kevin
They try to make me think they close to me, but Neb'in (never)
You know I gots to (say high) stay high, keep recipts for alibis
And the meat they ate from them drive-bys ain't mine
cause mine's a supe' desguise
As I swoop the skies high off that buddha
tah mixed the cusche and the purple hairs
And it got me high
(Now I'm rollin on the river)
Labeled Mr. FedEx
(Cause them bodies I deliver)
Got to get to my next plot
Unlock the freezer get the meat for the "rocks" (rotweilers)
SongtexteAnd heat the heat cause it's the "nine-neb'in" ('97)
and it's hot den a mothafucka
(All day everyday) I'mma stay loaded up, "krondike" in the trunk
And a pound full of James Brown
Cause I gots to get loaded so hold up soldier

[Chorus: x2]

The count goes
(One more pound of smoke and it's guaranteed to make a mothafucka choke)
(Ain't got no down ass bitch at my side
but I got some bomb ass weed in my ride)

Nothin but notches, booches
Fill my pockets, hit 'em up everyday, gotta have my pay
The gaungay got me high now I'm paranoida den these booches
Filthy rich, I'mma take the loot
And the dig a ditch, tell your neighborhood bitch
to miss me with that hoe shit
Cause I'mma get this nigga when he surface
And that's on everything I love, I gots to split his wig
Opened up the little blue packet, stung him like a yellow-jacket
Rib cage heavily padded, hit him with the automatic shells
Send him to hell express from his mailing address
We got his name, for sho', then we went to the house and did that shit
I know I said I do it alone in the pass, everybody in the neighborhood knew
somebody betta jack his ass up like a six-four impala
You floatin' on dirty water
Pack your shit up nigga like it's on only you and your ?woda-goda?
Track your ass down, smoke your last pound

[Chorus x2]

(If you smell any smoke it's just me and my homies gettin' blown)
And I was late gettin' home, intoxicated
Fight with my old lady
she was comin at unreal, hit the blunt and now she's animated
Motivate through you like a foggy mist
You can hold me in your chest-plate like that nitro hit
First Degree told me if the weed can toss
It'll talk some shit, gotta get me an underspot
make me a Hemp Museum like B-Legit
I'm tryin to bump my head on the moon
Live so high up in the mountains eatin' snake meat, fried raccoons
With a attitude I need food to eat up
smoke a fat blunt on my couch with my feet up
Top notch program, DOS mode indo 95 upgrade siccmade
Stay paid til the day on the ground, I'mma lay, I'mma stay loaded up
In my trunk I got the blow you up and it'll blow you up
And the count goes

[Brotha Lynch Hung sends out shout outs til the end]

(feat. Phonk Beta, Zagg)

[Lynch:]
Now on my briefcase was some crumbled weed
A pack of Saravegas and a 24 ounce O.E.
Might as well skeez these couple of hoes
In my 69 Malibu sittin' on trues and vogues
For days you might have seen me in my cinnamon cut chrome shoes
With some you can't see me tint on the windows Indo syndrome
Smokin' it up, not givin' a muthafuckin' fizuck
Sold the cut, my ex-hoe said that nigga's sqautin' what?
Got at the homie Carl, and got some of that bomb
Had me so fuckin' high I got off like Vietnam
Dead bodies and bitches clits simmerin' in the crock pot
And the shit don't stop until my muthafuckin' chronic or high drop
It's just that insane type of thang, let the Mac rain guts in the drain
Siccmade niggas they make the world go round
And if you fuck with Siccmade Music you can get your ass gunned down

[Phonk Beta:]
I had a homie who stayed up in Alaska, used to transfer flights over Nebraska
And flew me back about a ounce of that Alaska Indica weed
And out of the whole zip possessed one seed
Had it wrapped real tight all up in cellophane
Can't have the K-9 dogs smell it, man
If only you saw what I was seein', the buds was almost pure white, not green
SongtexteHad to be one of those one hitter quitter dome splitters
That's the type a tweed that makes you wanna fuck your baby-sitter
I roll a fattie, when I roll this fattie
Niggas'll be all noid wonderin' why they lookin at me
Bitches have the nerve to say my shit ain't bomb
But it'll have your lungs burnin', like your puffin' on napalm

[Zagg:]
I wipe that sweat up off my forehead, I'm off the cusche
Lay back and take a comfortable hit, with a Q-tip, it's splittin' my lips
And my dome stays split off toothpicks
I hit a lick with a quickness, dumpin' dead bodies in ditches
Appreciate the fact, come correct, cuz I could be vicious
Suspicion, comin' up on recognition I'm creepin' up from behind
With a 12 gauge, non-fiction, I'm all prepared to go for mine
So step in line, a couple of hits, dome split, I be lit on a for real base
With a machete I'll slice your neck just like them Jason cases
Murder traces, but I ain't pinned cuz there's no evidence
Slight scent of that purple cusche plant, and I can almost sense the essence
What's the lesson? Get tested, don't come if you can't come correct
It's that West Coast shit for life I don't know what you expected
I'm reckless, nevertheless I'm a pimp in a bulletproof vest
Puttin' it down, pound for pound, you need to take a step down
50 caliber rounds, I'm runnin' through your whole town
Buckin' em down like Doom set on deathmatch with the BFG-9000 cartoon

(First Degree):
Shit done changed, the strip got bigger
To make my ends I got the wheel and the trigger
I get my swerve on with the 80 P liquor
The liquor bring out the nigga in this nigga
Got me huntin' with my musket, barred down with substance
Bringin' my ruckus to the rival fuckas in rival clusters
I'm still givin' birth to perfect joints, I keep it steady
Still mixin' up with skeet sours, I like them heavy
Heavy'll put a little bass in your voice
Yamps choice, no Rolls Royce but I keep it moist
I keep it saucy, ya bossy bitch talkin' that costly shit
Bossy bitch think she too flossy to trip
I'm First muthafuckin' Degree, not your average,
I'll have your boulevard hoppin'
Poppin' off when a baller pack a package of suckin'
Fuck you fuckin' up duck, stuck like Chuck, now, now getcha dome in the trunk
As we donut, I dump, I seen too many moons, took the minds of too many bufoons
Fools with no clues that love to watch my aura glisten,
they still don't listen
I...I got pot that's hot to trot, can't stop, won't stop
I got Lynch Hung in my backseat sniffin' for cops
I receipts of tweed purchase, medical purpose, write off at text time
So ya'll go home, light the smoke, it's relax time

Chorus:
Now I apologize for smoke on my mind
I been workin' hard and I got to unwind
About the J.O.A. stayin' in my brain
But I'm seconds away from goin' insane
Now I need to lift away

(Lynch):
Now you niggas know I come sick like a lunatic
Man, they must be high cuz they really don't know who they fuckin' with
I used to have them all bombed out
Drink Alize wine, then rhyme and smoke tweeds till we dropped out
I got the chop out, no doubt,
cuz if it ain't about rappin', gunplay's gon' happen
Cuz I'm tappin' at yo' window, off that Indo, more sacs than Santana
Better check your antenna on your radio or your stereo or your video
Cuz I'm not that pretty, but in the bedroom I'm critical
You got your chance, now use
Hit you with the Loaded album, coutesty of Siccmade Music
Evidently you got something against me
Don't you tempt me, minty smells of the 20 sac of Indo, Killafornia's best
Player haters die a slow death, slow death

CHORUS

(Ice-T):
I don't wear no Chuck Taylors and don't sag my pants
But I still lift the switch and make this 64 dance
More niggas with me now than I had in the hood
And they down for whatever and that's all to the good
Wish you would test my technique and heart, nigga what?
Nigga, fuck that, bitch nigga what? Baby, duck!
What you wanna do now, ya bleedin' from the floor
Nigga wanted beef, now he wants beef no more
That's how I'm coming 9-6, bitch, rich and mad
Hoes in bikinis, rag Lambroginis, overseer runnin' mad streets
Creepers with beepers and stash spots for glocks
And under car Escobar style, buck wild, you been there, you know the terrain
Niggas go insane, tryin' to get the green
I'm just surviving on the streets with my peeps
And I'm livin' for the day I catch a punk on the creep, yeah

CHORUS

[No lyrics]