My homie called me in the morning from a hospital bed
He got holes in his body from a glock full of lead
He said, three motherfuckers that his lady knows
Tried to jack his ass for his 84s
Now in a Ben Taub sick bed, my homie lays up
He got sprayed up, cuz he wouldnt raise
Caught three of the seven of the shots that rang
Them folks sayin that hed never walk the same
It sounds like a job for the uzi gat
And where the fuck did your bitch say these fools be at?
For a real long time, we been the best of friends
And Ill be damned if a nigga dont get revenge
I feel anger, that Im no stranger to
Bustin slugs in they guts just a thang to do
Why they pray for you, come and spray they crew
Got love for my homies, I thought you knew?
He said "Los dont sweat it, let this shit alone,"
but with these punk motherfuckers I must pick a bone
Now will it be the cranium or the chest plate?
Necks break back, snap, put him in checkmate
Lead take me to vengeance, send this
Ripping through tendons I end this
Because you bleed inside and it hurts to cough
I cant take no advice I gots to break them off
Cuz my revenge, it tastes so sweet, I gotta do,
What my friends, would do for me,
You muthafuckas gotta beg,
Yall askin for action,
Eat a fuckin K,
Im blastin some asses
Cuz my revenge, it tastes so sweet, I gotta do,
What my friends, would do for me,
You muthafuckas gotta beg,
Yall askin for action,
Eat a fuckin K,
Im blastin some asses
My niggas check me, Im thinkin of a master plan
Im straight up blastin glocks, them fuckin bastards ran
Im steady missin all my homies that done bit the dust
Got revenge cuz them bitches wasnt shit to us
Now what the fuck can I accomplish?
And when Im dead, will I find myself on Gods list?
Every night I give, thanks I wouldnt die today
Turnin cane into crack and my mic away
We dealin cuz we feelin that the, pays right
Hopin Mama never see me at my, grave site
No daylight, play night cautiously
Could be death, or my freedom what its costin me
Lost in dear life my wife be that Mary Jane
And my streets got me strollin blueberry Lane
Very same song sung in the South
From the mouth of a hustler, never have I trusted a
Trick or a hoe or a dope fiend either
Cuz they smoke like a beaver buildin dams on the river
Live a, life of a "G til the d - a - y
Hittin switches on the freeway high
Dont reply cuz me dont give a fuck
What you hoes got to say about me Hillwood funk
Stop short in your tracks
Gats got the place surrounded
Sounded two warning shots, fuck on up and youll be grounded
Pounded bodies with a bunch of twelve gauges
Now her face is too straight in the fuckin dog cages
Pages of my book, turn like the wind blows
On the paper of a crook, muthafuck them hoes
Hittin flows as a hustler, rose as a "G"
Saves his flows to big 8, now he scores half a ki
Some say in his head he got insanity inside
But all it really be is mathematically inclined
Look behind, you might find others takin over
Rookies movin cookies, they whipped in baking soda
Baby learn the fuckin rules, my cheese, is SOLID AS A ROCK
With my homies and we BALLIN WITH A GLOCK
Tenderoni phony fraud motherfuckers
Best to get out the game, fore you die motherfuckers
Bustas trust us, but us hustlas trust no one
You can sure run with no gun
That be a nigga slow guns
So roll one of them sweets
Chug-a-lug on the eightball
And see where this motherfuckin life is gonna take yall
And haters might fall
|
