(DJ Paul, intro) Finally! I got all real niggas on a motherfuckin' posse song! Niggas that's down to cut some motherfuckin heads! From here to ATL, to Nashville, back to the M-Town, nigga And you know what that means, bitch!
Makin' easy money, pimpin' hoes is serious, bitch Makin' easy money, pimpin' hoes is serious, nigga!
(Verse 1, Project Pat) Call a nigga, drug dealer Out here on the track nigga Weed smoker, coke snorter Come and get a pack, nigga 'Cain slanger, bitch banger Dogg I bring it to ya If you got a problem wit' me Holla at my Luger 'Dro puffer, cheese cuffer When we on the jack-jack Hit'cha in the head wit' that Gat Til' ya skull crack Blood gushin', head-rushin' At first, no discussion Come wit' that bullshit Then them bullets start bustin'
(Verse 2, Killa Klan Kaze) First crime, we came wit' "Mystic Stylez" I rhyme, you slip I "Live by my Rep", don't fuck wit' mine "The End", the souls of men They beggin' inside the posse The Prophet, the Posse We all collide, we brew The trap-titute, to end they phase I'm outty And crime reminds Crazed in Last Days Hypno-tize and blazed another gold plate "Sixty-Six, Sixty-One" The smoke cleared, evaporate
(Verse 3, Juicy J) I got a three-fifty-seven A Tech wit' a black clip A hundred-eighty pounds Wit' a fist that gon' bust lips Some killas on my side If I tell 'em, they gon' get A fool violatin' the business he ain't wit' And now in 2000, he talkin' the same shit And now in 2000, I bust and I won't miss The smoke is in the air The liquor is still a fifth The groupies still rollin' The curls ain't no kick foo
(Verse 4, Killa Klan Kaze) The first one of us is done Hollow-tips come by the ton Wit' two AK's and plus a drum To leave these nigga's bodies numb I don't talk this shit for fun Cock it back and let it go Wit' six shots, from the Three-6 shooters Lettin' 'em know, whoa Picture me, naked-faced to kickin' in yo door Four, niggas deep, bandanas wit' black Calico's So, when we creep, duck Cause I might hit you nine times Take yo nine lives Jump up and hypnotize yo mind Blaow!
(Verse 5, Crunchy Black) You can believe this You can believe that And believe I got, a baseball bat And I'm bustin' yo head, black And believe I'm comin' strong And believe I'm all grown And believe, that nigga I love to get it on No half-steppin', I gots the weapon A Boom-Boom! I'm blastin' at'cha I'm out to get'cha, believe that I love to kill, I love the thrill And I love to put a nigga's body parts in the field, nigga!
(Verse 6, La Chat) I'm gon' go blastin' to get this bitch Ain't got no time for no shit Gotta hope my boys don't make no noise Just throw that trick in the ditch Ain't know way La Chat gon' let'cha slide Wit' the shit that'cha done I got my bruise on what I do To show you folks one-by-one A sheisty bitch, without no punch Just got no love in my heart It ain't no boy that I can't handle Keep that tone in my trunk This ain't no threat, I speak the truth Gotta come too thick to get me I'm warnin' you hoes before you come That that ain't gon' be easy
(Verse 7, Koopsta Knicca) Man a bitch'll take that loot Without a pussy for them papers Get the fuck away from me, ho! Because the Koop can't stand the vapors Take her, break her, to whoop that funky bitch Talkin' that shit about this man You gets yo chest up in yo arm, bitch Yeaah, we can do it Take yo time, do it right You can give me the fuckin' chew And I could fuck ya all night Wanna fight about'cho friends See how that be, just don't start See now that's that type of shit That get my muh'fuckin dick hard
(Verse 8, T-Rock) Gather the Mac-11's and load 'em full of ammunition Terrorist sets, we pull him like I'm in the Expedition All seven niggas, got guns equivelent to what we pack Nuclear pistols, and fire-scorchin' automatic Gats How in the fuck can you handle the Busted amateur Toss the bitch over the banister Like trash canisters Hollow-points into yo gathered troops When I have to shoot Plus I be storin' the calf of you And drinkin' Absolute
(Verse 9, Killa Klan Kaze) I woke up early Saturday mornin' Cellular phone was ringin' off the charger Thinkin' to myself, man is it a bitch? A cop or, it's them robbers Pardon Mr. Mac, off in the scheme I'm stangin' for my dividends And pay a livin', ain't makin no brother My cheese gon' reach the ceiling-fan You can catch me in that burgandy thang On grizzle when you see me You can joke me and provoke me Best believe the bleedin' is ig'nant Fuck the reason and the treason When time to get dirty, nigga bet our prophet You was gaspin' for yo last breath All I heard was Killa Klan Kaze
(Verse 10, DJ Paul) These bitches think we playin' Think this killa shit a joke Come fuck around wit' HCP And get'cho ass smoked, ho Comin' wit' some fully-auto's Fuck some semi's Hit him wit' some hollow-auto's Cause I despis-ise Blast 'em like some ralo bate's For y'all mayates Equipped wit' double clips and duct-tape And wicked wiz-ays And I prefer it keep me busy in my free-time Caught 'em in the curry, and I'm knowin' they wanna re-wind Give you second thoughts about that business you didn't finish, right? Took you to the vault, cash it in, all-night flight And I'm in a bad mood Cocaine make it that Plus I got east holder Nine-mili willy, nigga I slang wit' that
(DJ Paul) Bitch! Nigga, HCP Nigga, HCP Hypnotize Camp Posse, nigga What! What! HCP, nigga HCP, Hypnotize Camp PosseTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
