(feat. H.A.W.K., Chris Ward)



[Intro]

Bang-bang, I shot you down bang-bang

You hit the ground bang-bang

That awful sound, bang-bang

I use to shoot you down



[H.A.W.K.]

Bang-bang, all that remains is a splattered brain

Chizzle your frame, and blood gushing from you veins

We bust them thangs, that rearrange your whole frame

And inflict pain, like a venomous snakes fangs

H.A.W.K. is the nickname, H.A.W.K. therefor is sick mayn

And when I aim, just get low like Ying-Yang

And if you're in my range, while I'm in my Range

You better switch lanes, and dash like Dame

I'm like John Wayne, without a saddle mayn

I tear up thangs, the force of a hurricane

You think it's a game, then go on let your nuts hang

Call my bluff, and you gon see your cuts mayn

Blood on your Chucks mayn, I don't give a fuck mayn

I'm not young, but I do want the bucks mayn

Fire up the dutch mayn, fired in the clutch mayn

And just remember, anybody can be touched mayn

I'm like Big Daddy Kane, ain't no half stepping

Cause I keep a weapon, and it's a Smith-N-Wesson

I keep my heat on me, like I.D.

Bust a few shots, you hooked to an IV

So don't try me, or you will die G

And one thang bout me, is I don't lie G

Don't jump fly G, or try to act crazy

Cause that will only have you, lying under daisies

Mama screaming out, what happened to my baby

Our sympathies go out, to your T-Lady



[Chris Ward]

You see I grind full time, and I rhyme on my off days

In a red patent leather colored Coupe, and the top is soft grey

All you hating ass haters, best to back up off me

If not I know where to do it, my glock faulty

And round here, man they call me C dot W

If I ain't got no love for ya, ain't no sense in mugging ya

I just pull out, and toss a couple slugs at ya

With a warranty, that nine out of ten'll end up in ya

I got a aim, so superb when I spit

It's like my flow pattern, have you ever heard when I spit

I'm so correct with it, I must connect with it

Hit your chest back head, and then your neck with it

See I'm the truth lil' dude, just ask these niggaz

They could be driving in they ride, and I could be walking

Ten miles behind, and I still pass these niggaz

Like a bad accident, I'm bout to crash these niggaz

At the lyrics cemetery, is where they gon have to stash these niggaz

And yeah-yeah, it's C-Ward the B.Gizzle of the click

That'll dump a clip at ya, till I hurt or burn a click

Click-click-click, uh-huh

And reload, and do it all over again my nigga

Click-click-click (blucka-blucka-blucka-blucka-blucka-blucka)

Click-click-click (blucka-blucka-blucka-blucka-blucka-blucka)

Click-click-click (blucka-blucka-blucka-blucka-blucka-blucka)