(feat. Black Ice, Desert Eagle, Frank Banger, INF-Black)



[Chorus: Black Ice]

The gang'll feel, we a gang of gangstas

A gang of gangstas.. what up

I might bang this steel, we a gang of gangstas

A gang of gangstas.. up

The gang'll feel, we a gang of gangstas

A gang of gangstas.. what up

I might bang this steel, I might bang this steel

We a gang of gangstas.. what up



[Black Ice]

I ain't really talkin' to niggaz, I don't know

And I ain't gotta floss to licked by your ho

I place slow in the precint, fightin' off the chokehold indecent

Try'nna give me the talk, but I won't fold this g, shit

Parental discretion advised, advice for my advisaries

Get a weapon and ride, Ice comin' soon

With a hundred goons who all love to shoot shots

Put a tunnel through your coupe, slump your baby mother too

All's fear and warfare, that got my team in the crosshairs

The gleem left them blind, it seems they all scared

Want to get money but your heart ain't there

Your mind ain't writin', the drugs got you lost in fear

Luv Allah, you in this for the broads, or you wanna ball

M.O.E., I've seen money seperate dogs

Cut your life short with the four four long, real talk

Lose this game, you die, hid confined behind them steel bars



[Desert Eagle]

I'm an animal damn it, slash bandit, slash cannibal

Grand it like Hannibal, slash Marilyn Manson

Tattoo's, duck tape, snatch dudes for ransom

Hundred bricks' of jewels, let me choose a mansion

Kill crews, bullet shoes are stampin'

Straight dogs are dampin', the spirit of you so called champions

My pen is a pillage in Hamptons, wherever you camped in

Ya'll all tied up, you and your damn friends

You better get 'em pies up, homey's kill kids

And everything around you, so you can feel it

Don't take it lightly, this is some real shit

That Hill shit, duck when I spill clips, your real bitch

You not real right, you're ready rock, a real prick

And ya'll don't know how it feel, when them things hit

You will never know how it feel, when them things hit

You won't even hear it comin, cuz it sounds like spit

*spit* *spit* It sound like spit

Now what sound like this, but a pound in my hit

Silencer on the battle, plus I rubber the grip

On the barrel, plus I rubber the grip



[INF-Black]

I lay it thick to bitches, like big dicks picture this

You battlin' me for chips, throwin' your best lines

Passin' to me spit, I'm throwin' my worst lines

And still empty the clip, take over your whole ship

Your soldiers are bullshit, talkin' you got a gun

But son, you ain't usin' it, play dumb

You slung by the force of the bullets

For sure I'm gonna pull it, sixteens in your unit

The flagolent never prove it

I'm a beast to this music, and increase in the streets

Cop heat to abuse it, I'm toyin' wit ya'll

Young boys with no choice but to follow the rest

I swallow your best, technique and tactic

Couldn't last one round, be careful it's the draft picks

Niggaz get gun downed, get married to they caskets

It's easy to see, when I sing, ya'll back it

Make me have the plate, talk slick, get ya ass kicked (what up)



[Chorus]



[Frank Banger]

Although I told the son, shine in the darkness, fuckin' with a cat that's heartless

Barely cuz my gun jam, or cuz I use a glock with one or two revolvers

Twenty two in the ankle, or the glock, nine in the hostler

In the street, 57 rips the meat right off your shoulder

When I do it, just look at my eyes they're ain't no fear

A minute ago you was holdin', now it's rather this

Fuck runnin' up in it, with the pockets off the denim

Take the cash out the shines, then I'm splittin'

Niggaz say I'm chippin', but I'ma trynna make a livin'

Picture me livin' in the streets, I'd rather go to prison

Three hot, send the cop, fuck that

It's 16 hot in his glock, ski mask, black gloves, hit a number spot

I hit the lotto without usin' the ticket

Ask me how stupid muthafucka, just spit

Cuz I'm livin' the street life..



[U-God]

I'm slick with my notes, move quick on my cults

Talk slick money grip? I'm slittin' your throat

Cop a house on the boat, twenty pounds of coke

Catch him at the Puerto Rican parade on the top of the float

Curry don't need alligator shoes or a furry coats

Play me close, I gave him a dose

Shot him up with volts, body go up in the smoke

The mic pope is back, I throw him in the yoke

Head crack, go for broke, nigga, murder he wrote

I took her to the crib, we fucked like old folks

Death stroke, hand on my balls, got you in a scope

I punch you so hard, got you stuck between the ropes

Thunderbolts under the blow, shake the ass, vocals show

We comin' for war, it's your hope, when my

Tech will blow, it effects your hearin'

When the game need penicilen, inject the serum

It's the livest borough in the headphone portable

The last mentioned niggaz in the hip hop quotable



[Letha Face]

My brain cells are excersized, dismember your body

Leave you hard to recognize, check the size of the shotty

Eyes foggy from purple haze blunts, surgicul blade graze chumps

I open flesh, leave no razor bumps

And made this jump up to the sound of frantic gun fire

Sware, don't stare, or get aired like spare tires

Now you wear wires you government informant

I sign your death warrant, your expired without life insurance

I'm equipment with a high performance engine

The heater stays hot, so now my palms are sinked into the glock

My attention's worth to stop your heart from beating

Sink your teeth into the bullet for beefin', now you're permament sleeping

Pleadin' after I'm Charman squeezin', the desert e'zin

You'll be restin' in pieces, that's the opposite of breathin'

Receiving head trauma from an infrared llama

Son I'm half Dave Berkowitz and half Jeff Dahmer



[Ja-Mal]

Come on... rap on hold, I'm try'nna get movie cream

So my rims'll be bigger than movie screens

Ask if I make you cock-eyed, and my flow is lethal

Grow on sight, swallowin' peroxide

Dudes try to kill the sire, due that

Get put on the floor like wheels in tires

Look, put the pedal to the metal, don't stop

I'm like a tea kettle, little daddy, I'm hot

Straight blazin', amazin', Ja-Mal, amazin'

Blazin', you sort of get the idea

Beef, finish it, can't afford to start it

Get your face stepped on like floors and carpets

P. Diddy who did he when the son don't shine

Gun shots is plenty, clips is all empty

Minds filled with envy, love assassin me

That's why they call me Lord, your title is type iffy

Put this over your fit, I'm ready for violence

Grab a gun, a knife or a home appliance, Ja-Mal!



[Chorus]