[Intro]
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Aiyo, got ya muthafucka seein stars
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(Brown Hornet, Pop)
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Blastin muthafuckas out the muthafuckin box
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(Out the box)
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[Pop Da Brown Hornet]
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Shake rattle & roll, ratters than ya peasants ya peasants
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Form a line, while I'm handin out presents
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Stiff jabs or stiff kicks, for a nigga
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Big back with stiff dick, for my bitches
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Burn like a cancer stick, free loaded spit
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Them cops that killed Diallo, they can suck my dick
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41 shots, enough lead to take a city exam
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Or ain't that one man with the NYPD
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Who need the Ku Klux Klan
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I ain't runnin or hiddin, like 2Pac I'm riddin and dyin
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New York, New York, It's where brothers are sport
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Make it to the playoffs, don't get happy get ya head blown off
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We got dick for nuts, puttin fingers on red buttons
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Ready to launch, tellin us, turnin ya arms
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Hell no baby, ya devils must be crazy
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Out of ya mind, I'm holdin on to my nine
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Chorus: Smoke (Pop Da Brown Hornet)
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No More Mr. Nice Guy (No More Mr. Nice Guy)
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No More Mr. Nice Guy (No More Mr. Nice Guy)
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No More Mr. Nice Guy (No More Mr. Nice Guy)
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No More Mr. Mr. Mr. Mr. Mr. Mr.
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[Pop Da Brown Hornet]
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You hold every sentimental
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As for me, I lost my feelings somewhere inside the temple
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Where they got throat cutters and back stabbers
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A life is lost right in front of your eyes, nothing really matters
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You just go on living, Projects is like prison
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We got fags and dikes, razor blades and knifes
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Homo thugs, and all type of drugs
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Addicts, snitches, bitches, holdin ya pictures
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With nothin on but a thong
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Fuck me, leave at night, for a trailer visit, fuck you in the morn
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Bad boys, we killin toys, they muffle and noise
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Never lose they boys, they just keep on squeezin
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Bodies drop for no reason, kill you for breathin
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Rumble till we even, or till one of us die
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Eye for an eye, yo it's no more Mr. Nice Guy
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Heads gotta fly, we 'em up, let 'em hang dry
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Choke 'em till they pass out, wake up in ya briefs
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Playin for keeps, yo fuck you and your peeps
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Never had it good, my last album went wood
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Bought my words when you hear this, I'm movin out the hood
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Takin no prisoners, no eye witnesses, if ya sensitive
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Back up, you want no part of this
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Ghetto bastard, who never got his ass kicked
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I just stay kickin ass, got the mic and the smash
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Step up, feel the blast from the Brown Bomber
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You don't really want drama, quick to start shit
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But then go runnin to ya mama "Dial 911
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Brown Hornet on the new cent, he fuckin with my son"
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Bitch tell that piece of shit to finish what he started
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With this cold hearted, half retarded, hip hop artist
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Weak rapper, told ya lame ass not to cry
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But you gotta fry fuckin wit no more Mr. Nice Guy
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Chorus
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[Outro]
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Aiyo, aiyo, aiyo, this Smoke right here
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The new millennium, ain't no more Mr. nice guy
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That's right, that's right
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When you see us in the club, there's no more Mr. nice guy
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When you see us in the streets, no more Mr. nice guy
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That's right, Baby Pop, Brown Hornet baby
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Smoke Records, RNS Productions, Ain't no more Mr. nice guy
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We're not playin, it's not a game
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-----------------
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No More Mr. Nice Guy
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| Pop Da Brown Hornet |
