[DJ Paul Talking]
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[Verse 1: DJ Paul]
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I comes from a city where they love to hate, especially on that Triple Six
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They see we really got Bentley's and Benz's and they hate the shit
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They try to come up over us, the radio even help em' at it
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But yall ain't got no flows, so hang it up you silly rabbits
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I'ma keep on hurting you boys, by making this motherfuckin' world rock
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Side to fuckin' silence bitch for years and man we still ain't stop
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Still ridin' clean, makin' cheese and carrying plastic glocks
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And please don't try to test us cuz you know we'll let these bitches pop
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On you hoes, you haters, you niggaz really like us
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Cuz if you thank us, then you wouldn't try to sound so much like us
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I'm the K-I-N-G of that M-P-H-M-S (Memphis)
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H-C-P, to the E-N-D, others gone be less
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Come prepared, man I swear they wanna be down with my team
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Don't let the shit talkin' on them CD's fool you
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That ain't what they really mean
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The truth can hurt so bad so look in they faces when you play us
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And watch how they look, and watch they jaw drop to the pavement
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Nigga
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[Chorus: DJ Paul]
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Why yall Test My Gangsta
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These bitches Test My Gangsta
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[Repeat 8x]
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Cuz it's on now
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Nigga yeah it's on now
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[Repeat 4x]
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[Verse 2: Lord Infamous]
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Nigga don't you know that Lord can make your life a living hell
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And I mean that literally, the place where demon spirits dwell
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Empty all the buck-shot shells, make your fucking body smell
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I can fuck you up somewhere, to where you were they cannot tell
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Fuck me with me, you fucking with the best
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Nigga so all you fucking with the wrong one
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I will hit you with the milli-milli gun, got a millimeter gun
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Blow out ya lungs
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Like them old I-Tal-Ians, Mafia, Gangsta son
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When you see me coming, better run for fucking cover bum
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(BLITE!) AK, SK, .44, Tre-8
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This body kinda heavy, D.O.A., air away
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Bitch you better take notes, 'fo you end up cut-throat
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And ya on the ground bro', with your fuckin' shirt soaked
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Ini-Mini-Miny-Mo, blow a nigga out his clothes
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Come out the trench-coat with a Sawed-Off, and lay me down a hoe
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So if you think ScareCrow ain't a gangsta come and test the waters
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You will be de-slaughtered, the dearly departed
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[Chorus]
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[Verse 3: Crunchy Black]
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Why you niggaz wanna test my gangsta?
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Don't make a nigga run up and shank ya
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Or put some cement in yo shit and sank ya
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Or make you shoot yourself and then I'm thankin' ya
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Throw tile over round your throat and drag ya cuz
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Get nothing from me, but gangsta love
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No testin' me my nigga, have you laying in blood
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Or dig you a grave, cut ya bitch ass up
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[Verse 4: Juicy-J]
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(Yeah Hoe!) [repeated throw the verse]
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You niggaz be trying to test, I ain't no slouch
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I squeeze my fuckin' fist, my nig', I break the law
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I call out a hit my nig', I make the fall
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The handle with the bloody trig', is all they saw
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'Fo yo ugly face was down, on the ground
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A barrel pointed at your frown, with hollow rounds
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I bet ya wanna run and shit, it's too late now
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You shouldn't have been runnin' ya lip, to make me clown
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Bitch!
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[Chorus]
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Testin' My Gangsta
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| Three 6 Mafia |
