| (I cramp your style
|
| With a bullet and a smile) --] Onyx
|
| Ugh, niggas on the d-l casin me out
|
| Truckin my jewels, feelin for the tools
|
| When they come they gots to come correct
|
| Because they know I catch wreck
|
| A well-known wild street vet
|
| Step into the kill zone, baby, it’s on
|
| I pack the twin nine-mills that’ll lift your dome
|
| Chrome pump with double-eyed slots and such
|
| A fully-auto Mac-dime that is sure to touch
|
| Ya, bust you with the Desert Eagle
|
| Street legal, move against my peole
|
| And the Ice gets evil
|
| Hit you with the .44 Smith & Wes-
|
| Son, you’re best to run cause my Tec eats pests
|
| I got a Glock with the laser, hot police taser
|
| Step in real close, I hit your throat with the razor
|
| You wanna live or die, it’s your decision
|
| Talk shit, you’re dissin, I got you in my night vision
|
| Brain fragments on the street released
|
| Another nigga fronts hard, another nigga deceased
|
| I got a H.K., A.K. |
| and a M-16
|
| A 12-gauge street sweeper with the circular clip
|
| Quick to let projectiles fly, you die
|
| And watch your fat moms cry — bull’s eye
|
| (I cramp your style
|
| With a bullet and a smile) --] Onyx
|
| What you think all the guns is for?
|
| What’s up, niggas don’t seem to hear
|
| Still lookin crazy, let me make this clear
|
| Fool, the Ice ain’t havin it
|
| And when I let loose lead, believe I’m accurate
|
| Fat scope on a 30 ot 6
|
| Sawed-off double barrel and a pistol grip
|
| Pump on my lap at all times
|
| I fill my gauge shells with nickels and dimes
|
| Thompson Center spittin .45 slugs
|
| Black Mac-11, Python .357
|
| Snub-nose .38 or .380
|
| Seventy Automatic, full metal jackets
|
| Hollow points comin atcha fast
|
| You feel the slug before you hear the blast
|
| (I cramp your style
|
| With a bullet and a smile) --] Onyx
|
| Muthafuckas frontin hard
|
| Lookin at niggas crazy and shit
|
| Make a nigga break
|
| Nigga don’t want me to pull out
|
| I don’t like shootin but I do shoot straight
|
| Niggas I be rollin with will shoot up a wake
|
| Why you wanna step in the sights of a nigga
|
| Known hair trigger, the coroner delivers
|
| More cold bodies to the morgue each weekend
|
| One minute you bleed, the next minute you’re leakin
|
| Best to listen close cause this ain’t no boast
|
| And never forget that I leave you wet
|
| Bloody, sticky, holes in your Dickey’s
|
| Oh what a pity, lookin all shitty
|
| My Winchester will get the best of ya
|
| Hand grenades will fade all the rest of ya
|
| I reach out and touch you with the parabellum
|
| You got a crew, you better tell em |