Songteksten

Never duck another mother fucker repeat it Never duck another mother fucker Nigga better delete it Put the cerebellum in killa mode For real a foe can never get With what a gorilla know Killa syllable fillin' Yo biblical ritual the shit to get rid Of yo pain hearing your pitiful game, This is political pain Deep in the pit of yo brain let it rain With a unforgettable aim Nigga lookin' for a spot to bust Cause the homie that you killed meant a lot to us Buck instead I'm lookin for a cock to fuck Kill a nigga like he was rockin' a swastika You can do it but you blew it cause lockin' up Get your ride on nigga is you rock or what? Lots of luck, You're really gonna need it hella heated Mother fucker let the glock erupt, Box him up I don't wanna be the one To get a milla meter in the gut I wanna be the one to hit'em with another milli Cut up In the middle I'm a little sick And different And I meant it When I said it you remember that? (Hell mother fuckin' yeah) You don't wanna get in trouble With a nigga like the Teccanina If your lookin' like a enemy bust We don't ever stop and take a minute We just (BREATHE!) Hey son what the fuck are you duckin' from? (BREATHE!) They come bets to fight every fuckin'one (BREATHE!) Say some punks around and some buckin' guns (BREATHE!) Spray guns might result in you bussin' some (BREATHE!) Never let a hatin' mother fucker See ya sweat Bleed the chest no need regret A fun day caper a Sunday paper So I can read the rest I can dig it you can dig it Put a nigga in the grave if he hate or penetrate The loop of love A nigga made if you steppin to me You will never benefit Nigga if I start it Imma finish it Run up on a mother fucka While he fuckin' a chick Put a bullet in her head while she suckin' the dick Wasn't a bit of evidence baby it's irrelevant You got it with yo nigga that's the luck of the grit Bring pain 2 everyone in your face with the bane You bury some its mother fuckin' shame We carry guns If you don't you're insane or very dumb Teccanina's too rough (too rough), too hard (too hard), too tough (too tough), you scarred (you scarred) Cause a nigga know A mother fuckin' round will spit Fuckin' around with the killa clown and shit. If you really wanna do it nigga we can step into Put us up against some mother fuckers And we runnin' thru it Fuck a nigga buck a nigga If he think he's a gorilla Meant I when I said it you remember that (Hell mother fuckin' yeah) You don't wanna get in trouble With a nigga like the Teccanina If you're lookin' like a enemy, bust We don't ever stop and take a minute We jus, (BREATHE!) Hey son what the fuck are you duckin' from? (BREATHE!) They come bets to fight every fuckin'one (BREATHE!) Say some punks around and some buckin' guns (BREATHE!) Spray guns might result in you bussin' some (BREATHE!) Get sprayed by the Tech 9 handgun Now I'm on the out run Flowin' the beginning hot cooked will done Fuckin' wit a crazy insane warlord Punks wanna trip but they know I'm too mother fuckin' hard Deadly ticking like a time bomb Fuckin' with me you think you were in Vietnam When I explode aint nuttin left But remains for those who are froze For fuckin' wit a nigga insane Mentally minded mad mother fuckin' mad man Is out to attack Sinkin' punks like quick sand Droppin' and poppin' Any punk that bucks up bring a body bag If you wanna get fucked up There it is you little bitch made Nigga start runnin' When I'm playin' with the trigga Of an uzi a twelve gauge Really don't matter many suckas die When the shot gun scatter From block 2 block, hood 2 hood Street 2 street boy you can't fuck with me So 4 those who chose 2 jump up and talk shit Admit ya bitch your little ass got lit I don't wanna be the one To get a milla meter in the gut I wanna be the one to hit'em with another milli Cut up In the middle I'm a little sick And different And I meant it When I said it you remember that? (Hell mother fuckin' yeah) You don't wanna get in trouble With a nigga like the Teccanina If your lookin' like a enemy bust We don't ever stop and take a minute We just breathe (BREATHE!) Hey son what the fuck are you duckin' from? (BREATHE!) They come bets to fight every fuckin'one (BREATHE!) Say some punks around and some buckin' guns (BREATHE!) Spray guns might result in you bussin' some (BREATHE!)
Writer(s): Michelle Branch, John Shanks Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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