Brotha Lynch Hung Album

Alright you MuthaF**kaz
U ready for this?
Is your joints lit and shit?
Because you gotta be high to listen to this shit you know?
F**k that f**k that
Turn the tape off you know what im sayin
Go get you a muthaf**kin spliff
for those of you thats already high
Peep this Shit

[Grisly voice]
Yeah, the Baby Killa's back up in this motherfucka...
Straight from tha grave,
it gets so deep right under the Garden Blocc...
Oh, me? Ya can just call me Manson...Yeah, we met before...
But ya forget that I ain't gonna die so I'm back up this motherfucka...
So peep the mothafuckin' words from the dead man, yeah...

[Brotha Lynch Hung]
And when I pack me a gun and, oh, when I was young
I dreamed of feedin' them niggas soufle (soofley) a' la dunn
Motherfuckas get hung, my bullet weights a ton
The Garden Blocc Don, the valley of the slum
Tha cannibalistic nigga that got that 9 millimeter gun
That nigga that nigga that got them mothafuckas on the run
They thought that I was done but Lynch is not the one
To go out from a gunshot wound, nigga, I'm not done that soon
Bitches, they come but nut just like the rest, caught one in the chest
Shoulda wore a vest and, oh, what a bloody mess
Puffin' off the cess, dealin' with the stress, killin' off the less...
Fortunate but they trip when my nine gets sick
Them niggas either die or stay stuck on my dick
Cause I'm that nigga they call Lynch, I got'em niggas fiendin' for my shit
I empty clips, drinkin', fuckin' with tha splift
And it's the nigga that kill for reason, it's the Season Of The Sicc
That's why I got the urge to shoot that pussy clit
SongtexteAnd kill off that infant, so what is my intent?
To show them mothafuckas livin' life ain't shit
I gets to gettin' real sick and eatin' bloody clit, the baby killa shit
Put 'em in a grave with an empty 40 ounce bottle and don't leave a drip
Cause livin' with tha Tripple-Six
Ya learn to fuck devil in his mouth and eat the shit out of his bitch
And I admit: my brain is kinda sick
But now I'm like J. Dahmer, I'm chewin' up all the evidence
I killed to cure my fit, the human meat fix
Bitin' to the skin rips, that sick nigga, so sick
Livin' dead ever since...

[Grisly voice]
Yeah, do ya wanna know what that Siccness is?
The Siccness is when you hug your mama and ya dick get hard
Or you walk in on your baby's mama and she's suckin' your son's dick
That's the mothafuckin' Siccness...
So, ya mothafuckas don't ya forget that shit...
And don't forget where the Sicc came from...
That nigga Lynch...

[Brotha Lynch Hung]
I take my mouth off up that cog and trip
Cause eatin' dead pussy clit I make ya sick
But it's the Season so my reason is legit
I'm havin' fits, I dreamed of eatin' bloody pussy clit's since I was six
I fiend for a dead pussy on dick, I gotta skits
Meanin' I don't give a shit about ya biyatch
That nigga that's from tha Blocc, killin' up tha cog, so, nigga, shii-it
Baby barbeque ribs and guts and, ah, don't let me get too deep
Fryin' baby nuts, sluts get ate out alike, dank is what crooked teeth heard
I pull the Tampax-string out and straight put in work
It wouldn't work without that sick, so page a nigga quick
So I can serve ya some of this shit and have ya murderin' ya biyatch
Cause me and Triple-Six grew up fuckin' bitches up the gut
With tha 9-millimeter clip, Season of the Sicc, picture this:
Pussy meat ripped in a pan full of nuts and guts and intestines and shit
I gets ta chewin' on tha clit, the sick, they just don't understand it
It's so outlandish, chewin' nigga nuts to cure my fit
The human meat fix, bitin' 'til the skin rips, that sick nigga, so sick
Livin' dead ever since...

(Phone Rings)

Lynch: What up?

Other Man: hey nigga
hey nigga peep game nigga
i got me this lil' old tricc from tha other side you know what im sayin'
the bitvh was runnin' her mouth nigga, them fools is out to get your ass nigga thats real, its on the blocc nigga, so whats up nigga what u wanna do nigga, stomp on them fools nigga, can we dump nigga? whats up?

Lynch:listen nigga listen listen, we just gon' chill at the crib, we just gon' strap up and wait nigga, dont even trip, i got me a 9mm, 44, AR15, 30ought six with a scope nigga, a Ithica 37 12gauge shotgun with a 5lb. slide nigga, we all the way nice nigga, streetsweeper and shit, pistol grip you know. We finnuh handle these nigga. Low-Kee gave me the whole hook-up nigga. Lets do this.

[Brotha Lynch]
Yeah I'm back up in this motherfucker
For the 9 whatever the fuck
You know I ain't dead yet
I'm with my real loc niggas

I was a dead man, walking they say, so every night I hit the gates
Load the AK and post up, in the window till come day, anyway hey
I feel the payback simmering in my brain
The thoughts of death cloud my mind
As my niggas is gone away many clips and 24 riches, packed
but who really got my back
now that them niggas done hit the grave
I'm killing them off for the olds days
24 ways and a 24 sack of that purple cush and make me sicker
than sick and even get Ripgut Cannibal if you wish
cause nigga it's EBK everyday all day to the day I die
I'm creepin through yo set with a mini mac 10
AR15 rugga with a 12 guage pump in the trunk
and a black beany disguise
That nigga that you can't see glocks and locs
over my eyes crept like a black cat with a mac
with a mac 10 in my lap with fat sack of that crack
took a hit of that shit and seen some niggas with a 4-5
So I let 'em have it bounce to the O you know trippin
on that Indonesian shit and a 9 millimeter for you to dump
Songtexteand put one in your bitch and put her in her grave
with that empty 40 ounce bottle and don't leave a drip
then bounce to that ounce
with a lack and a mac and a fat pack shit
I'm sicker than sick you niggas gotta admit when I
grab my shit you either gone or get caught with a hot one
nigga so rest in piss

[Chorus]
Just call me Agent Double O Deuce 4 Blocc
I got that 9 milli glock and ready to put one in your knot
"Rest in Piss" (Shit) (repeat 4x)

[verse 2]

[Brotha Lynch]

From the rep of the depth of the double O
duece foe block with a glock in my pocket
full of that sess you betta wear a bullet proof vest
When I'm match your set betta pack you a tech
cause I'm at your neck with a clip full of that shit
nigga don't trip when i put one in your dick that Ripgut Cannibal
Hannibal shit nigga nuts and guts all over my chest
and stomach running with no slack threw my strap in the back
twist me up a sack and I'm back at the Garden Block
kicking it with maniac the nigga that a maniac sicker than sick
when a clips in progress put on the ground
with a brain full of them nine slugs read him in Reader's Digest
uh I found a new love trickeling in my brain half of the doja
half of the OE half of the fact that I am insane nigga
it's that duece foe blockster
where niggas never put their glocks up
and get their cocks sucked nigga you just can't stop us
loc to the brain insane with a main game that will maintain
untouchable cut your throat and leave you in the street
with a lynch around your throat motherfucker
cause you ain't got no love foe the block
pop gotta hot foe that 24 street block
nigga that took a shot rest in piss

[Chorus]

[No lyrics]

You better pray
When you see me put that nine up in that pussy, ho
Cock it back slow
Rock it back and forth, wait for the nut, then let my trigger go
BOOM!
Pussy-guts all over the room
If you ain't seen it,
Then you're fiendin'
For the meanin'
Of that nina of doom
2 inches in and, uh, 4 inches out
You back that nigga that pack that gat
And hit that indo-sack
It's like that
Cannabis and tea've, uh, got me stuck on stump, fool
All it take is a way, a fat, green-bud blunt and a stunt
Cause it's that nigga that work 'em nigga deep
And block creep
And witness murder, baby, kill a seed
Once it'll make you vomit
Guts in a mama's baby, nuts in a bottle, maybe it's common
Biatches keep f**kin' and suckin' and keepin' it comin'
With they drama. POP! It's baby killa season
Put 6 in the clip, put it up that clit
And watch them baby's brains
Drip out that fetus
Bleed, it's that nigga that kill 'em
I'll fill 'em all full for that sicc reason
Season of da siccness broodin', got me trippin' for no reason

Guess what daddy's bringin' home for supper
Nigga nuts and guts and slabs of human meat, motherf**ker
Now eat! Cause daddy's workin' hard for you, real, huh?
Killas run around everyday that's why I'm hard for you, nigga!
Now eat!

As I creep, picture every human that I seek
Slabs of human meat
Cause my kids gotta eat
I lives kinda deep, dark, up in tha cut
Where niggas load nines, and barrel-f**k a slut
Nigga, what? You ain't even seen me in my prime
Eatin' baby brains, baby veins, baby spines
I know they be cryin' when I'm cuttin' off the neck
I'm peelin' off the skin for some bacon-fried croquettes
Baby villain spine, that baby-killin' mind
A fifth-pound of gin cause I know I'm doin' time
So catch me now before I do my next crime
My kids' gotta eat, somebody's baby's on the line, nigga

Guess what daddy's bringin' home for supper
Nigga nuts and guts and slabs of human meat, motherf**ker
Now eat! Cause daddy's workin' hard for you, real, huh?
Killas run around everyday that's why I'm hard for you, nigga!
Now eat!

Get ready for the nigga shit
That siccer-than-sicc gut ripgut
Pick-a-vic-up, f**k 'em up with a couple of nine-milla slugs
And put 'em on the ground. Murder toll. Buck buck!
Slugs to the womb
Guts all over the room


That legion of doom
That S to the I-C-X
With a locc and a tech for the throat
and a neck full of gunsmoke it up, locc
One for the nigga who kills them infants and senses
Then this time, I hit 'em with a nine-millimeter, meter
Now let's pick up me freakin' up your skin
Never knew nigga-meat cooked so thin!
So I pack me a nine-milla gat
And creep in the back of the 'Lac
With a sack of the indo

Guess what daddy's bringin' home for supper
Nigga nuts and guts and slabs of human meat, motherf**ker
Now eat! Cause daddy's workin' hard for you nigga
Killas run around everyday that's why I'm hard for you, nigga!
Now eat!

That's right. Once upon a time
A nigga that hella sicc up in the skids
With a lie for the snitch
As a victim's stoned, sayin' "I'll be bones to the pussy clits"
They're a baby ditch to the mastermind
Nine-millimeter shells, they're blind!
Devils made a pact to f**k with match-to-heat, it's one of a kind
Low enough to the shit got hella deep that I had to patch it
To a soul who had the heart to put his mama in a casket
Who could it be?
Or can he be
Locked up in the county
cause the bounty
finally found a nigga like me?
X-to-the-R-to-the-A-I-D-E-D
L-O-C
What's up, my nigga?
Pull this trigger
And take my muthaf**kin' legacy
But watch your back. Niggas be claimin' that they sicc
But really don't know which way to go when they be smokin' up with my
lunatic
Shiiiit, have you ever seen your mama's cock? (yeah!)
Have you even seen a body drop? (yeah!)
Have you even loaded up your glock?
Well, I could gives a f**k cause even then, nigga, you not my nigga
From that 24 Garden Block
That's doin' time
For shootin' shadows up in the dark
And tryin' to bite before he bark
And when his heart stops
From the metal blue blocks up in the cut
They try to lynch my muthaf**ka to make some dice up out his nuts
And what the f**k goes thru my nigga's mind up in his cell?
That 24 Deep, no sleep, much stress, nigga. Nigga must be livin' up in
hell
And here I am, same muthaf**ka that got my nigga sicc
Tryin' to kill myself but slippin' more deeper into the siccness shit

Guess what daddy's bringin' home for supper
Nigga nuts and guts and slabs of human meat, muthaf**ka
Now eat! Cause daddy's workin' hard for you nigga
Killas run around everyday that's why I'm hard for you, nigga!
Now eat!

(feat. Baby Reg, Baby X, Big Dan, Mr. Doc)

[Verse 1: Baby X-Rated Locc]
Comin off that high it's that double-set rapped around some funk in the trunk
I got the mossberg pump and bout' to jack a punk
And when that siccness hits I'm like a new stage
Watch my back, hit the dank, load the gat, make the grave
Twelve midnight, my niggas on the stroll,
Mr. Doc, Baby Reg, Brotha Lynch, Big Dan
We bout' to roll ridin deep hella high so nigga peep this,
Take ya glock off safety turn around and hit the street
When I got the milli pictured in my head
Ain't no stoppin cuz the devil said I'm halfway dead
What can I say got them evil thoughts fillin' up my Head locc to the brain
On that insane tip E-B-K everyday
The block-style bitch smokin' dank
With my braids in my hair and I'm riding on a full tank
My nine on the side going Both ways,
Peel a niggas cap and then I'm sideways

[Chorus: x2]

Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K
Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way

Locc to da brain...
Songtexte
[Verse 2: Big Dan]
Now try to peep this watt G straight low killa rollin five and the deuce
Locc to the brain set-trippin' after fucking with that sick juice
I fuckin' pump twelve rounds of that knot block the plot
(you down to ride?) yeah we fuckin' with them body drops stop
Hit the lights there them niggas go
Reach for your flags your straps and roll the windows low
Roll slow these niggas actin like they know us are here,
They fuckin' duckin' dodging bullets damn I emptied the clip
They bustin' back trying to hit us from the blind side Low,
A fucking doughnut and the twelve-gauge pump
Hang from the window what's up now nigga yee-ah
L-O-C to the brain and gauge blast equals rest in pain
Insane loc so a nigga don't give a fuck
It's in the hearts so these rival niggas straight stuck
I let the gauge loose damn I've never seen so much blood
It's all for gang and the gang shows no love fool
So if you ever see us rollin through your side it ain't all good,
I suggest you hide

[Chorus: x1]

Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K
Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way

[Verse 3: Mr. Doc]
Come with me deep see how I'm bout to do it for this
Back with tight big shit
Them fools that say they'll kill the stinking hits not doing shit
When they get lit up on they turf
So move on with they life one even left
That since that time I haven't heard from him
Now that's my locc right damn, where'd you go folks?
Remember we're supposed to be the ones with brains this locc's
So nigga fuck it, i'll do it like your ass is dead
And touch them niggas with the mack-eleven out of the shell
I'm burning up the villiage nigga life is a bitch
Somes I set the tags and name on the wall you fucking snitch
So you'll make a switch on how you're gang-banging
L-O-C and to the brain real locc's don't play that way
See your niggas on the other side is best to hit the floor
And watch them flesh-shredders bout' to rip your asshole apart
And now it is said and what was said
Will come to pass from Mr. Doc amen, God bless your ass

[Chorus: x2]

Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K
Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way

[Verse 4: Baby Reg]
See I was standing in the middle of a circle cuz' a nigga is trying to jack me
With a nine-millimeter ruger and a six deep posse
But I ain't going out for a jack move
The only thing on my mind
Is pullin my nine and these handles in these fools
Now tell me what you busters want with me?
They started talking about pockets on the ground you mean
Empty my loot out, you fools must be smokin' sherms
But i'll be glad to put my strap up in your face and let some gun powder burn
Now take a lesson from a Sac-Town criminal
I'm standing all alone in the street
And talkin shit to your circle and ain't no blastin y'all must be bluffin
Threw up my sign and grabbed my nine-millimeter nine
And started bustin on niggas and watching every muther fucker try to run
That locc to da brain got a nigga insane with a fucking empty gun
So imma continue to strike and stay alone and maintain my self-pride
Cuz' when I ride it's always locc to da brain

[Chorus: x2]

Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K
Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way

[Verse 5: Brotha Lynch Hung]
You can't see me for the fact that the inside of my strap's in your sight
Bout' to put some slugs in your throat and put your guts in my coat and hit
the night Drop a sack of indo in my pipe and it's
EBK everyday until the day I hit my grave-sight
That locc to the brain cuz' it's all redrum
A couple of hits from the purple spliff
and I'm workin a fifth of the coke and rum
I have my twelve gauge-pump decorating niggas brains
Nigga nuts and guts is how we get sick them Northern Cal slayings
That locc to the brain shit ain't no game it's a gang
Them niggas that killed they mama for some fame it ain't no thang
It ain't no way, I dump and let them niggas live
Cuz' where I'm from we rockin up on em'
bustin them reps up in them niggas ribs
It's twelve-o-clock full of that spliff full of that ammo in my glock-nine
Creepin through your set hit the stop
Sign sideways bustin I see gat twenty-four C's
Feel the breeze from the slugs in my nine now
Rest in peace

[Chorus: x4]

Locc to da brain insane every day all day it's E-B-K
Where niggaz load they straps cause the rival's on the way

Q Ball!

So what really happened nigga? I understand ain't nobody did shit. Ain't nobody did shit for my 'causezin. Where dem niggaz at dat said dey'd put it all on da line? 'cause nigga... only a child could empty a gun toward da sky. I gotta kno where niggaz' heads at, 'cause my 'causezin still ain't got no peace yet. So all you muthaf**kas wanna know where I stand? Nigga I stand right next to my 'causezin E Mill nigga, you know what I'm sayin? And dat's on da Blocc nigga. However you wanna handle dat shit nigga.

[Brotha Lynch]
Look up in da sky! It's a muthaf**kin slug!/
Some nigga done let one off and only my 'causezin sheddin blood/
Dat loccest muthaf**ka frum twenty ninth street throwin up his flag/
Sum nigga got mad/
And went to da crib fo da 44 mag/
Return to da set up and let my 'causezin have it/
Da nigga dat die for da Garden Blocc Gang, did time for da Garden Blocc/
And ended up stuck in a muthaf**kin casket, but I don't be givin a f**k/
I'm tappin up in yo program/
Before you know it I'm creepin up on you in a licorice dar kblack drop top rohan/
Wit a 12 gauge pump in da trunk and a clip full of funk and a fat purple cush blunt/
So call it what u want/
I call it da fever of da FUNK HOUSE
Dumpin gauge shells in dat ass/
Leavin ya face down, chest down wit a gang of guts hangin out yo ass/
Nigga, you know da process. They wanna kill me now/
I'm a dead man walkin till my funeral can you feel me now?/
And if I die, before yo second blasted/
Dat's on da Garden I'ma rise up out my casket/

[Chorus]
I'm liquer sicc and I just might lose control/
So load yo clips, loccs, 'cause we ridin for my folks
x2

[Brotha Lynch]
And I'm out in da 6-5, HARDTOP IMPALA lookin for dat 187/
There he go! And I'm right behind him bustin wit my Mac-11/
Str8 bumper ta bumper 12 gauge pumpin was dat lil lex locstah/
Givin up his set and dumpin on niggaz just like he supposed ta/
Nigga dis is real deal. Shit, it's not about crip or blood/
It's about payback, dat family luv/
So nigga now f**k yo whole clique/
Like 24 deep they tryin ta kill me for my f**kin tapes/
Dem baby rapes, so nigga get out my f**kin face/
If I was really bangin niggaz would know 'cause I'd have they whole set/
Lookin like LA when da earthquake hit. Nigga, f**kin wit my tec/
I'm frum da Garden Blocc no matter what nobody say/
I'm makin my money not lettin dat bangin shit get in my way/
Niggaz get mad, they wanna see da Lynch rippin/
I'm wearin blue yeah, but muthaf**ka, I ain't even trippin/
But for my 'causezin Q Ball, Mr Docc & Six/
My 'causezin Eclipse and two of my kids, nigga, fetch these clips/

[Chorus]

[Brotha Lynch]
There ain't no f**kin way/
My 'causezin gonna lay up in a casket wit no retaliation/
There ain't no f**kin way/
Dat muthaf**ka died for da Blocc, so let's heat dem muthaf**kin glocks/
There ain't no f**kin way/
My 'causezin gonna lay up in a casket wit no retaliation/
There ain't no f**kin way/
Dat muthaf**ka died for da Blocc, so let's heat dem muthaf**kin glocks/

You know what I'm sayin? This time it ain't gon be shootin in da muthaf**kin air nigga.
We takin out bones you know. 'cause dat nigga woulda did it for us you know.
I gotta do what I gotta do, you know what I'm sayin?
Tried to sit up here and do my music thang you know?
Then my 'causezin got rolled on you know? Dem niggaz frum da Garden don't do nuthin now, we all gon get rolled up.
Like a fat ass blunt nigga. So wassup?
I'm puttin my life on da line for dis shit, they wanna kill me 'cause I'm rappin, you know what I'm sayin? Wassup niggaz?
Dedicated to my 'causezin Q Ball. Rest In Peace nigga.
To dem otha muthaf**kas, f**k peace.

[Hung]
Look up in the sky it's a motherfuckin slug
Some nigga done let one off and only my cousins sheddin' blood
That loccest muthafucka from 29 st. throwin up his flag
so nigga got madd and went to the crib with a .45 mag
returned to the set-up and let my cousin have it
that nigga that died for the garden blocc
gang did time for the garden blocc
and ended up stuck in a muthafuckin casket but i dont be givin a fuck
im tappin up in your program before you know it
I'm creepin up on ya in a licorice dark black drop-top broham
with a 12 gauge pump in da trunk and a clip full of funk
and a fat purple cush blunt so call it what you want
I call it the fever of da funkhouse
Dumpin gauge shells in that ass leavin you face down
chest down with a gang of guts hangin out yo ass nigga
you know tha process they wanna kill me
now I'm a dead man walkin to my funeral can you feel me
now and if die before your set gets blasted
that's on the garden cause I'm gonna rise up out my casket

[Chorus: x2]

I'm liquor sicc and I just might lose control
so load your clips loccs cause we ridin for our foes

Songtexte[Hung]
And im out in 6 5' hardtop impala lookin for that 187
there we go and right behind em bustin wit my mack 11
straight bumpa to bumpa 12 gage pump was that little X loccsta
givin up his set dumpin on niggas just like hes supposed ta
nigga this is real deal shit its not about crip or blood
it's about pay back that family loves
so nigga now fuck yo whole click
like 24 deep they tryin ta kill me fo my fuckin tapes
them baby rapes so nigga get out my fuckin face
If I was really bangin niggaz would know
cause I'd have they whole set lookin like L.A. when da earthquake hit
nigga fuckin wit my tek I'm from da garden blocc
No matter what nobody say I'm makin my money
and not lettin that bangin shit get in my way
Niggaz get mad they wanna see the lynch rippin
I'm wearing blue yeah but motherfucker I ain't even trippin
but for cousin Q-Ball, Mr.Doc,and Sicx my cousin eclipse
and 2 of my kidz nigga catch these clips

[Chorus]

[Hung]
There aint no fuckin way my cousin's
gonna lay up in a casket wit no retaliation
there aint no fuckin way that motherfucker died for that blocc
so lets heat them motherfuckin glocks [x2]

[No lyrics]

[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung]
Uhh, now that's real gangsta shit
Pack 10 and on a bitch in a Hotel Six
40 on the back, Sicx over top
Diggin in a spleen witta gangsta lean

[Verse 1: Brotha Lynch Hung]
It was a dark blue night, nigga toe down sleep
Had a 40 once of E and half once of weed
Just got fooled rockin gangsta shit
My nigga Sicx fucked around and took Pooh-Man's bitch
Rider in cut and got her all fucked up
It was all just us, bout to bust fat nuts
Sluts get dug like a grave when I'm high
Shootin out the barrel of a 7 inch by 5
With a nut all in your dome, slit fulla that home grown, shit
Bout to pull em up on with that limp
Then I'm out, ready to take the back rout the the freeway
Grab anotha hoe and a 4-0 on the way
And I'ma know, that's the fools do it in the Locced Blocc
Makin hoes nut, 5000 with the 9 Glock
And you gotta know that it just don't stop
Mr. Redrum, Redrum on the cock and my nigga say

[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung]
Uhh, now that's real gangsta shit
SongtextePack 10 and on a bitch in a Hotel Six
40 on the back, Sicx over top
Diggin in a spleen witta gangsta lean (and my nigga say)
Uhh, now that's real gangsta shit
Pack 10 and on a bitch in a Hotel Six
40 on the back, Mr. Doc in the bathroom
Diggin in a spleen witta gangsta lean

[Verse 2: Brotha Lynch Hung]
Now it was all that night that we hooked shit up
Had hoes, 4-0's and 9's in the cut
Just case, niggas want funk we got the right guards
Spray straight Uzi on them nigga evryday
And it's the Baby, the Bady dead-a sleep
Toe down drunk, must have been drinkin Ol E
While Mr. D-O-C {???} his G
With a hoe and B-I-T-C-H my nigga Art be
Rapin those hoes, takin those hoes to the room
Drop the crop and let the trigga go BOOM
And me? Man I'm just a G
Kick back witta 4-0 and let em come to me
One for e-ach and every single nigga on the third floor
Smoke a half of O and forget what you heard hoe
And you gotta know that it just don't stop
Mr. Redrum, Redrum on the cock and my nigga say

[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung]
Uhh, now that's real gangsta shit
Pack 10 and on a bitch in a Hotel Six
40 on the back, Mr. Doc in the bathroom
Diggin in a spleen witta gangsta lean, my nigga
Uhh, now that's real gangsta shit
Pack 10 and on a bitch in a Hotel Six
40 on the back, Lynch over top
Diggin in a spleen witta gangsta lean, my nigg

(feat. Mr. Doctor)

[Brotha Lynch]
Yeah I could load a 9 up everyday, but why
My locc's told me homie make them tapes
And keep that 24 block alive
But if I feel I'm in need, I got's to ride
Carry a 9 for straight business, not just a side
Man it's the night-mare, creepin up in the cut
I'm hittin dice games, barbeques, no matter what
The things I've seen'll make ya throw up
Flaunt your flag, shoot your gats, hit your dank
Where I'm from that's how ya grow up
Man it's that wicked and 9 millimeter
Carrier bein stereo-typed daily
Ya got's to feel me, foo it's that baby
Killas run around everyday that's why I'm strapped
Ya heard it I got my own back-fade
Out into the 'lac and hit the city of Sac
Them homies given me that
But you got them fools that want a foe then
They wonderin why I'm carryin me a 12 gauge pump
Man I ain't no punk
The average everyday thug that's how it sounds
I'm defendin myself, and loadin that mili
And leaving em layin
Songtexte
[Chorus x4]
Deep down, there's a place for hope

[Mr. Doctor]
I guess it's hard to explain why I'm feelin how I'm feelin
I guess I'm feelin sorrow cus my homies got some stealin
And foos would say that it's my fault I bet
See cus I wasn't strapped yo, but I can't fuck my set
How could I know that them foos would blast?
Later on, on my folks
It's funny how this bangin's got its different strokes
I think about my loccs and how they made it
Though I'm stressin from the fact
They gotta suffer from a bullet hole
And Mr. Doctor just don't have hope locc
It's only been a month, since my last down partner got smoked
And rivals is deep, up in my city foo
Since I'm on the underground team, I can't have no peace
My life is tore up so I guess I'm stuck
Yeah, I got my St. Ides, I'm turnin it up
To get drunk, then I post up on the street
While I say to myself, for the block
Homie rest in peace

[Chorus x4]

[Brotha Lynch]
They say that ain't the way to handle that type funk
But now I'm loadin up the strap, smokin on that blunt
Just cus the Brotha Hung is flag-up
What that mean, I can't ride?
Why G's up in my face, I'm bout to help them ride
I keep a low pro, drink the 4-0
And lounge until it's time to go
Shinin up the forty-fo
Rollin up the boogey-boo, indo
And hopin if I should die, before I'm high
That they bury me in 50 pounds of chocolate thai
I got them homies from the south-side givin it up and
Them homies from the east-side slangin that stuff and
I'm right up in the middle tryin to hang on and
Tryin not to end up like them niggas doin time in the pen
But then again
I'm down for when the homies is ready to roll em up
You know, stick in a dark-blue cut
And as I'm creepin through ya set
Trip, don't get caught up, shot up
The gardenblock locc's, man we leave em layin

[Chorus x4]

Thus the nigga in that casket hotboxin
How many muthafuckers wanna empty out they glocks in me
The gangbangers most wanted
The first nigga caught me in my side
And my set didn't ride
So I'm locc to the mutherfucking brain
50 pounds of dank in my casket
I'm bout to take my last splift
Before I make that move to insane
Records of a criminal for baby killin nothin
40 ounces wit my game
Them niggas that kill they momma for some fame
For the ripgut trigga to hit what muthafuckers in my aim;
Even my momma tried to take me out the game
By heating up some Brandy and taking it to the dome because I came;
With the siccness and it's just the dank that I smoke
Making me load that millimeter putting deuce up in your throat;
Murder she wrote, in the book, as a gang related homicide
Reality check nigga for the fact she giving it up
It's suicide for the do or the die
True or the die each time
One after each as I creep through the streets
With a 9 millimeter up under my seat
I pack heat, deep cuz a nigga like me can't be played cheap;
blink, before I'm leaving this niggas guts up in the street;
peep, ever since nigga deep I gotta carry me something
SongtexteCuz everywhere I go niggas 12 gauge pumping
I wan't them to know when my 44 bust
I'm taking this niggas brain hookin him up
And murderin niggas up
Then I give it up, then I'm in the cut
5 triple 0 double o Mosburg pump
Point it at your grill
Ready to bust for the fact some call me still
The hardest nigga in that casket hotboxing
So who those muthafuckers that wanna empty out they glocks in me;
Think 24 times fool fo you come wit yo punk 9's
Cuz nigga you nigga me, my oozie say its dinnertime
That ripgut cannibal mind for the shit that make them violent crimes;
That's atheist so feel the sign
A deadman walkin

40 ounces of tha liccer
16 in tha clip
Crumble the herb
Roll a spliff
Bout to make ya brain split

Hit the dank and took my glock off lock, and off
To the 21st blocc, I'm rollin in a drop top
Three for zero that black criminal mac mac nigga
That pap! pap! me hittin a couple of rounds
And while I test him, hey f**k a Smith & Wesson
I got my, nine at my chest and I got my dime bag
Of stress weed, a 40 oz. of OE and I'm creepin
Up on some niggas in a mob and a nigga claimin OG,
Pap! hit him in that dome and it was that nigga's worst
Put him on the ground wit a brain, full o' dem nine slugs
So wrap that nigga up, put him in a hearse
And I'm hittin 50, right around that curb, tight,
Rollin up in a 64, 4 doors sideways to the next light (YOU KNOW)
An I hit that corner of 24 street, some nigga mean mugging
Lynch, and I pop in a clip and I'm not finna get got,
I'ma shoot before I'm shot for the fact I'm B-U-Double D-E-D
I'm reaching up in my glove box, for the welfare weed
That's fillin a nigga's siccness so I miss dead bodies
In an, oldsmobile, up on the curb and while I'm skirtin
Pass the view wit an empty 9 and some bourbon (riiight)
I just adjust to the fact that niggas aint got no hope
I'm fillin em up with 16s, and letting em know

Chorus

It's either that die, or that sickness, and it's the nigga that nigga that
One you come see, with that 9 millimeter meter watch them 9 millimeter meat
Wikkihdie come, Wikkihtah come, Wikkihtah come, Wikkihtah E-drop, styling,
If I don't get you with me nina then me, you, scream,
And two pop nigga that mine in the deuce for the deuce
Without them gun shells, firing, fidda them don't know me when me high
Off them doughshot killa weed, me take-a me nine millimeter nine,
And me blast him, enemy for the die, 'cause of dat siccness dem creep
And ten baumy and a them say

Load up that nine I'm finna finna go boom!
Them no dubbin up that nina cut them in half with some of them
Ripgut, quality, for the fundamental cannibalism
Got them black enemy runnin in and when them,
Sickness kick in a million, baby dying, boom!

Hit em with my G like every day, nigga,
From the creek to the Garden Blocc,
I was creepin from the double dead red till all the drama stop,
And 50 150 is all that shouldn't even be on a niggas list
'cause since for the f**kin with I've been crazy times 6 charging in '66 and um,
Niggas cant see my folk when I dump them .44 slugs all down they throat
It takes one time, all night, to peel your tonsols
From the phone post, you know,
All up in the cut with the real deuce deuce four love I got
But you know that nigga from the creek so peep at what this trigger got
Come follow me sin, come quick 'cause I'm bustin all up on your, blocc
Shakin up yo nuts like dice deuce four in the don't strike twice
Them gon all go say «oh» about 44 times till so,
Much later than you go, better off dead, but nigga instead
That I let your mama know, she might wanna follow this Fahlivum shit
'cause a nigga wont last much longer, with wraps in the cut
Chewin all on your nuts like my nigga Jeffrey Dahlmer,
Cant load that shit that sickness gets me harder than a corpse
Till I reach for the greeds that nigga start jackin off until it hurts
Swallow my shit so thick this nigga run loccs up on you almost daily
For the digs then I'm off dick grow soft with lynch I'm chewin up babies
We gonna stay sicc, for the crazy run em up gospel shit kicks in
It's the nigga named 6 with the locc to the brain style fix
Eatin up your dead skin

Chorus

As I bail through the woods of the southside
Terrors on nine milli chrome kill alone cause I trust no snitch
When I peel a dome and bail
Gone like hell right through the do
I'm rollin' a fat sack of red boogy boo, nigga ooh
Watch me bail nigga but you don't see me though
Cause I'm rollin' fat sacks in the back of my vehicle
But takin' a puff of the dank stuff
and enough that double O-A-E dooz me
I'm slowly loadin' up the oozy
Well now who's he
Well it's that dead motherfucker doe
Well whatcha know comin' through with that murder mo
And I heard you know now whose been bustin' up on the garden block
You either give up the information,
nigga I get shots, so nigga nah WHAT!
I guess you wanna dose of this milla
Twenty-four shots from that mommas baby killa
Nigga mack hustla, cap busta, infact I'm just a mack ten
Bustin' em at your chin before I crept nigga
Welcome to your own death

[Chorus x6]
Nigga welcome to your own death

(BUCK! For them who don't know bout loc to da brain
SongtexteThem got them nine millimeter strap and true is the game) [x2]

So niggas miss my sicc
Some niggas don't know me, niggas don't know my click
That O-loc-double-C-O-G rip gut canibal type of shit
Plus many more caps bust
Anymore sacks to roll up, we need that high back
So niggas done load them nins and pull them high jacks
And lie back in the cut and roll another fat one up
Tack one up for loc to the brain
Them niggas that really don't give a fuck
Around and get buck, shot it up and dump in a truck and left in a cut
So nigga now whatcha gon do with a mini mack ten ten at yo gut
Plus niggas nuts and guts is what I rips for
Creepin' up in a six four impala
Mobbin' a loots all up to make you vomit from the raw gut cause
Nah what I do is let my nine do the talkin'
Leavin' you walkin' to your funeral low
Diggin'? yo smoke from the mack 1-0
I had ya pussin' just in case
I got me a mack eleven for your face that's leavin' no trace
Caps leavin' a gate and puttin' holes in a niggas neck
So watch the reeper when I creep crept
Welcome to your own death

[Chorus x6]

When I hit the block with a nine
Them fools better be duckin'
My nigga duck got out the car and started buckin' at niggas runnin'
untraceable gage shells
Only worriers goin' to hell
And 5-0 they just can't swoop
See cause we mobbin' too well
My murder file done pile more than a nigga expected
See cause have of the city of Sac still ain't accepted
That I'm a pack and when I'm sweated I'ma put in work
Cause my O-T told me why Jesus got to kick up some dirt
And I'm tired of warnin' a motherfucker about a nigga like me
When it's hard to believe
the nine millimeter comin' out my pants gonna make you dance
See that's the city and it's making a motherfucker stress
Gotta watch your back like 24-7
unless you wanna be livin' the rest of your life
Up in a cemetery die nigga die you'll repeat until you're buried
That nine millimeter givin' no motherfuckin' respect
Up on your back with your last breathe
Welcome to your own death

[Chorus x6]

[No lyrics]

(Devilish Moans)
(Deep Inhales)

Lynch: Hey who tha Fucc are you?

Devil: Aw shit, dont you know devils dont die so im bacc in this muthaf**ka you know?

Lynch: Nigga, nigga fucc you, but umm, when i shot you on tha last shoot...it wasnt to kill you anyway, it was just to see if i was you. you know what im sayin?
(Inhales)
If i died when i shot you, that mean i was tha devil, you know? Based on everybody thought i was dead, i thought i was tha devil but now, since you hear hit this muthafuccin shit

(Devil Inhales)

Lynch: yea thats that cusche nigga

Devil: Damn!

Lynch: see what im sayin?

Devil: Yep..Shit!

(Inhale)

Devil: you know that muthaf**kaz thought you was dead?

Lynch: dont trip dont trip

(inhales)
Lynch: ima dead man walkin anyway.

Devil: i know i know, thats 'cause you aint got no life nigga, im still hearin shit about you nigga. First i hear you was dead, then i hear you a Baby killa, then i hear you only eat nuthin but meat and 40's.Nigga you aint no Cannibal nigga

Lynch: nigga f**k you, you know what im sayin? You give me somethin that aint me, i feel disrespected you know what im sayin? Fucc around and put a 9 in yo muthafuccin mouth nigga.

Devil: oh oh you a hard muthaf**ka now you know im sayin. well ill tell you what. Since you atheist and gotta call me manson 'cause you dont believe in tha devil you know what im sayin, and aint scared od dying and shit, lets play this little game. You take your 9 and ill take my 9, and we'll cock that shit back you know what im sayin, and we'll point it at each other you know what im sayin, Hit tha joints then okay? We'll play a little game of Russion Roulette then you know?

Lynch: Fucc it fucc it

Both: lets do this shit (then/you know)

(Both cock their guns)

(Both inhale their joints)

(3 gunshots are fired)