[Swan]
|
Yo, take a walk through the Terror Dome
|
Instead of duckin little niggas, gettin live when they hear the chrome
|
Where them dollars at? What, nigga holla back
|
Is what they screamin, ice gleamin on Jumanji plaque
|
Here to rat-a-tat-tat, on a regular
|
Money exchangin, rearrangin on a cellular
|
We do it up in a Benz or a hoop dog
|
Smokin black, listenin to Snoop Dogg
|
We them troops dog, that be runnin up, summin up ya money block
|
Smack you all up in your funny top, guns cock
|
In the drop top, headed to the chop shop
|
Gettin ten grand, cuz the handle on your lock pop
|
|
[Chorus 2X]
|
Throw ya hands in the sky if you feelin this
|
You can roll a bag of la if you feelin it
|
You can bump it in ya ride, you can park up on the side
|
You can bump to the vibe, if you feelin this
|
|
[Buckshot]
|
I'm high when I know I'm sweatin, plus I'm gettin
|
Ready to set like Nino Brown at the wedding
|
You a New Jack, this ain't a City
|
What a pity, I fuck around, I have to give you fifty
|
And if I take 49, and you're left with one
|
See the one that jammed in ya ear, made ya deaf son
|
Take ya breath son, nah, here's the oxygen
|
Fuck it, bring the muthafuckin glocks again
|
Throw ya hands up, when I spit six to tear ya man up
|
Now you can't stand up, fucked your whole plan up
|
Every time the gun jam up, the back slam up
|
Upside ya head, give me my respects
|
|
[Tone Cappone]
|
Yo, there's nowhere to run, there's nowhere to hide
|
Don't no one survive, the toast on my side, we both gonna die
|
A nigga and his man tried to front, they both in disguise
|
See before Jesus, the only man chosen was I
|
And you can a dream or a nightmare, and I'm right there
|
Standin over there, wit a bead and a mic there
|
Puff there, Hype there, Russell there, Mike there
|
All them niggas watch me embarrass you, right there
|
From Brook-Nam to Queens, all the way to Yonkers and back
|
Anywhere you go, you see the knights only attack
|
Niggas flipped it on they back, enormin this tracks
|
We bombin these cats, like U.S. was bombin Iraq
|
|
[Chorus 2X]
|
|
[Sweet Mellodye]
|
A real hard head makes a real soft ass
|
I thought I told these muthafuckas they ain't in our class
|
Quick fast, I strip them from they stripes, snatch they thug patch
|
Fuck that, I make 'em run and get they wife and come back
|
You dumb black, bum raps is what y'all got
|
It'll take a forest fire, just to make ya hot
|
And I ain't got no time for them weak ass rhymes
|
And then, when you spittin it's three and four at a time
|
Come on now, I hate to be rude and shit
|
But it's only a chosen few that can do this shit
|
I thought you knew this shit, and ran through this shit
|
But you still sample shit, and gettin sued and shit
|
You know you makin me sick, like the flu and shit
|
And stage ya monkey ass, leave the zoo and shit
|
You see I rule wit shit, wit any bit I spit
|
That rap crack, you phat, ain't all that and shit
|
|
[Chorus 2X]
|
|
-----------------
|
Feel It
|
| Buckshot |
