Chorus(Lynch and D-Dubb)4x
 I re-fuse to lose
 Fuck them 22's
 I got an AP 10 and a throwaway Tech 9
 So you know you can't fuck with mine
 (Verse1)
 (Lynch)
 If I was standing in the dark letting my nine spark
 (D-Dub)
 Maybe in the morning, motherfuckers might feel me yet
 (Lynch)
 It's that nine tech nigga that got them motherfuckers tore up
 As I smash of in a seven deuce cut, you holding your gut
 Talking about
 (D-Dub and Lynch)
 What the fuck you smoking on?
 (Lynch)
 All dome as the chronics got me gone
 Nigga it's on
 On 'til the slugs come out
 (D-Dub)
 At night I do my murder red rum so tight
 (Lynch)
 I'ts the third strike nigga
 So now I'm aiming up at your dome
 'Bout to make your brain split and hit the Fleetwood Brome
 I'm like Richard Chase, mixed with Al Capone
 If you want some ripgut shit nigga
 Yeah, I got it sewn
 So bone to the crib, or get your wig split fool, with the tech chrome
 And say the alphabet backwards fast or find you a brand new dome
 A criminal minded nigga that gots tefs in his nine
 So head to the East side, 'cause it's red rum time, nigga
 Chorus 4x
 (Verse2)
 Nigga, it's that-Sac of Indo-Killafornia State of mind
 Where niggas put their gangster gear on, and bend corners
 In a Chev 69
 Wire rims
 You can't see
 With their neighborhood flags and their black Carthart beenie
 I'm like Genie
 As I swoop through the hood and get up to no good
 And I wish you would
 Test my tech, 'cause nigga, it loves to take out necks
 And empty backs out, so I max out
 350 on the black top
 More smoke than chronic smoking
 Loced out sherm, classic perm
 In my ashtray, there's always a roach
 Hit the left lane in case one times approach
 I got, 5 warrants and some '89 tags
 17 in the clip of my, auto mag
 I'ts sad
 I gotta watch my back, 'cause these niggas wanna throw me up in a
 black
 leather sack, and throw me over their back
 But fuck that
 Why you think I got extended clips
 'Cause I'm so high, most of the time
 I just can't miss, nigga
 Chorus 4x