(feat. Brand New Heavies)



Some think that I'm a flake, but I'm no fake nigga cause I

Drink a bitch, make him a witch and burn his ass at the stake

With the .44 mag it's so simple

Put it to his temple, fuck it, I give a nigga permanent dimples

Easing up on the fast slow, but I let your ass know

The block's too hot like Tabasco

Brand New Heavies on the tracks, G Rap on the wax

Cold bumping, got motherfuckers doing jumping jacks

You motherfuckers lost it

I bake your ass like a cake and all y'all flakes get frosted

Cause when G Rap is on the mix

Niggas start shitting bricks and turning into chick with small dicks

So a bitch, lyrics with a live band

(Yo this shit is funky) Yo fuck funky, the shit hit the fan

Shame if you're stepping to my set

You niggas get wet, nah fuck it, it's just a motherfucking death threat



Yeah, I got you bitches on lockdown, you niggas get knocked down

You're running cause I'm gunning your block down, punk

So save the bitch riff cause my four-fifth lifts

I'm tossing stiff off of fucking cliffs

Get close, I got you on scope, you walking on thin rope

So I'm a shoot 'em up like dope

Cause to make my notes I'm a cut throats

Bodies are thrown off boats and do a dead man's float

Straight down a river

Huh, with a bullet inside his motherfucking liver

Another hooker got thrown out

Stepped right into the crossfire and got her brains blown out

So you niggas better buck

Cause when my coat's full of buckshots, I don't give a fuck

You think you're down with the murder guys

Bullshit, say hello to that dirt you're gonna fertilize

You wonder why the area's stark

Homicides just fell ten bones since our car drove

When they opened the other trunks that were closed

Full of five unidentified John Does

All found dead on arrival

Cause I pulled up slowly and made 'em holy like Bibles

They find a letter and cassette

Red and said it's just a motherfucking death threat



Send the bodies to the morgue for a freezing

I got the motherfucking finger on the trigger cause it's nigga season

A punk tried to drop me

I left the body sloppy so they can't perform an autopsy

Dig a hole for the bitch

And put all his pieces and bits inside a ditch

Yo, you don't think you're going under

I got a bullet with your name, your address, and your phone number

So if you want to play games

I'm blowing you the fuck out the frame

You tried to front and got murdered last night

So now you float to the motherfucking light

So I'm a step to your grave and make a toast

And start shooting at your motherfucking ghost

So may the Lord be with ya

Cause I ain't no saint and I don't paint pretty pictures

It ain't nothing but bloodshed

Stains of brains on the rug and less blood in your head

You want to make me upset?

Huh, then I'm a promise you a motherfucking death threa