[Intro] Yo Fuck that! Word to mother yo Who you runnin' with? AFFICIAL NAST! Fuck that! Who you runnin' with? AFFICIAL NAST!
[Fredro Starr]
Yo, I'm goin' straight for ya head to leave you headless Eyez are redness, I spray rap cats, to burn a lack tips Point like rain, I take aim, blow ya brain out the frame Eight shots'll touch ya, spit ya physical structure MUTHAFUCKA this is lyrical destructure! Path from disaster, face Nast comin' at ya Full blast, I catch ya fragile ass, breath like ya astma Couldn't kill less, you approach your near death My hollow tips, rip a kid that's politic, with da villains The devil himself, a rebel in himself, trapped in America Assassinate ya charachter, slaughter ya Twenty more holes in ya (norica?), FUCK ALL OF YA! What?! Bringin' MC's, YEAH, callin' ya Livin' like a nigga with six months to live On da edge of life, wouldn't think twice, to make a SACRIFICE! To a hoist, ya niggaz ain't drew to life, my whole crew is trife! So bring ya wildest nigga rappin' for ya team See his ass who was clean, this is Suicide Queens Where gats bust, cut rope, cross Callahtaru Gather shatter you, feel the pain, son imaginable Self shit, straight from the hood, the dirty black shit Rap shit, get ya back ripped, plus the gat spit Blown in the cockred bag, or 32 tracks Murder you in raps, let my wild dogs bust the CATS! Styles leave the best dead, I stay breast-fed And when I die, be handcuffed til my deadbag
[Chorus] *Sample from "Rampage"*
[Sticky Fingaz]
Sticky Fingaz sneak up, when you least expect it I never fuck pussy, that seed's infected Fuck a brain frie, make me think he rational If I even think you sceamin', YOU KNOW I'MA BLAST YOU I'm too raw, what issue out your gore? I cut through any challenger Or top macho immature, you'd rather be in the Projects But an ass, where's a hundred G's cash You know gun, in the fuck with Sticky, Fredro 'n Son You lookin' at one desperate nigga, you shouldn't've messed with I had a doctor scared, movin' (----)(?) 'Memba when I test it, this nigga manhood To see if he was a true nigga, so I pulled out my gun Gave some dramatic asspiece, and pulled the trigger Haha! Barrel empty, joke on New Jack He cold, pissed his pants, pulled his cover, he in New Jack You know where I'm comin' from, most of my niggaz pump 'n jump� And when it's time to dump and run, I never jump the gun Or get cold feet, I hold heat, ya niggaz don't know me And six hours are made of four years Got high shit for your ears, sorry somethin' that I never felt yo Fingatips made 'em fell chrome, you talkin' shit like it's a little game That's now how we get down, 'beef' is my middlename So don't die over nonsense, I ain't got no conscious Come out ya face you gettin' shot, everything was spittin' hot I need fame without the bread, like I need a hole in the head And insult the injury, you can't fuck with me, guess that's not ya capuchi I'm every star me, if you haul what you eat, fuck the rookies rejects Play close and detects, I had a hard life, grew up too quik But kept it tight with my true clique, I start in a new flip Fuck you're frontin' for? I seen back, what you tell between your leg Afficial Nast in da house to meet 'em dead!
[Chorus]
[Sonsee]
You takin' a RIDE, in da ambulance You catch mad damages, cock the hammer shit Leave you Los like Angeles, You ain't brick, my stock-o But paper my shit, whatever you got, to take in da way YOU'RE BAKIN' TODAY, trust that, it's time to crush cats When I bust raps, I rust tracks and oft act, BUCKWILD! Army comin' through, hear nigga, DRUNK STYLE! FUCK YOU! FUCK THE JUDGE! FUCK TRIAL! I'm givin' nigga shatter ego's, I keep fools On pet bet face more threat, MAKE 'EM EAT THOSE! Leave goals my death, sleep ho's get wet If that ain't enough, we come through and hold ya shit Hit you with da FIREWORKS, you see the stars BLINKIN' I really BANG THEM and prepare you for God's ANGELS It's not a humble, but some shit you can't come through Nigga try to blow he gotta go, and now you know He's fearin', from the fearious, irious, dead serious, high styrious Feelin' ya, interior, wait nervousness for ya services WE CUTTIN' OFF YOUR CIRCULATION, AND DEAD IN YA PURPOSES! We them niggaz you can't FUCK with, friend will shine
All mics I slang (--), change your mind Of those thinkin' they playin' theirself, NEXT is ACTION Ya stole, you muthafuckaz gettin' CHROME!
[Chorus] Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
