Credits
Songtexte
(*talking*)
Ay ****, ain't you Mac
What you doing in this motherfucker
Camouflage **** what, you'll catch me in the cut
Fucking shit up for every ****, the bigger pig the bigger trigger
Cause my ****, in the river
Stories about the Mac, will make 'em shiver
They prolly at they crib loading they techs, wondering who I'ma smoke next
Patrolling they set, Malcolm X ****
The New Orleans Jesus, pack a tre-deuce
And you can bring the drama to Zeus, if you heard about what that 3rd about
**** feel that, that fake shit we bout to kill that
On the for real black, I never show-boat
Be on the low, like a black sto' the Mac flow
Sorta like a cracked flo', a different plateau the Mac show
When I attack though, I never turn my back cause
The bullets, penetrate the back slow
(*talking*)
C-Murder (what ****), man number 187
(what's hap'n), oh you in on murder one
(fucking right), get your shit boy you going upstate
(fuck the world bitch)
**** I'm C, motherfucking Murder never scary
But it's very necessary, to leave my adversaries buried
Crack sales bring bitches in lines, but I'm eternal
Lethal weapons stay cocked, many **** may drop
From the top like flies, I despise you hoes
With crooked smiles, make a **** wanna 'nap your child
**** bleed, my enemies fearing attack
They move with silence, when **** bring the violence
Do they know, me and my soldiers tighter than glue
We pass bitches and weed, my **** Mac planting seeds
Let the devil tell it, bailing making the scene
I whoop the **** ass in jail, he was a dope fiend
And no collect calls, ghetto pictures on the wall
You gotta crawl and fall, before you ball **** fuck y'all
Around the way, my **** feel what I'm spitting
It's Camouflage and Murder ****, so pay attention bitch
(*talking*)
Curren$y, I hope you got currency
Cause your bail two million dollars, you understand that
You lil' rap mother-(hol-hol'-hol'-hol' up man
I got two million dollars cash, call Stan
I'm out this bitch, you heard me)
What you gon do, when you get out of jail
Skerch off the scene, in a yellow ML
4-30, Benz truck
With four bitches inside, who all about letting a dog and his friends fuck
I'm too large, for haters
My **** smoke bud, tote guns, picture they all on paper
I'm talking bout **** like Big, you know who
Ceedy, Wayne, Geezy fuck it the whole crew
Uh we all roll with nines, and bout letting 'em fly
But I try to stay on the low, with mine
Catch lil' daddy slipping, point the fo'-fo' at his spine
Leave your body in the forest, where no one can find
And you boys, don't want none of that
I know **** that look at jail time, like Summer camp holla back
(*talking*)
Yeah ya dank, ha-ha-ha
