Lyrics: Crooked I. Death Rizzo.

[Verse 1]
Hold up...
I'm just coming to blow ya mind with the flow
Know what?
Niggas is hatin' cuz I signed with tha Row
So what?
Y'all been tryin' to stop mine on the low
I climb in the fo'
Let the glock pop... nine in a row
If I catch you after eleven
I'ma have to point an acurate weapon
At your acurate legend
And clap you with seven
I'm crazier than servin' crack to a reverend
Plus, I ruin your career
like if the news camera catch you with Tevin
Ugh! Just gimme your rightful invision
I stiffle your mission
Swing and hit niggas hard as motorcycle collisions
Watch your ass, like you Michael in prison
There's so many weak wick-whack
Recycle-rap niggas
I'm liable to diss 'em
Even though, they scared of testin' me now
Quit playin' games, you "Got Beef?"
"Say My Name," like you Destiny's Child
First off all, let's get a few things straight:
This Death Row and I'm the new teammate
Nigga, your crew seen fate
We drop it fast
Watchin' bodies get carried like shoppin' bags
I ain't seen y'all up in the 'hood since niggas was rockin' Shaq's
Standin' by this hot nigga, your s'pose to burn
Lets make a toast to Death Row's return
Ya heard?

[Chorus]
Act like you knizzo, nigga this Death Rizzo
Niggas throw ya hands up, bitches get on the flizzo
Bangin' on you bustas in the two-triple-izzo
Kickin' in the dizzo
And that's so for shizzo
(2 times)

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
Oh... you niggas thought it was over and done?
I told you a soldier would come
Run for both of your guns
While you got that chronic smoke in your lungs
Open your mail, there's a picture inside, of me... chokin' your son
You're broke than a bum
Need to rap over some fatter samples
You Roger Troutman... out-settin' a bad example
In fact, should of had you gaffled, in back of the tabernacle
When you was tryin' to have ??? sex from that tramp,
with the adam's apple
I never understood why they was hatin' on Crook'
It's all just good 'cause the whole 'hood was waitin' on Crook'
I don't battle rap groups
I put switches on Cadilac Coupes
Nigga, that's how the strap shoots
I still... beat the hell outta fat dukes
While you cowards act cute
I teach these rap, soup-eatin' niggas how to stack loot
Gats to tuck
Can't tell you cats enough
The first thug label in the world, that's wussup...
It's Death Rizzo

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]
Yo... we still crackin' and smashin' for some real action
I'm still the best thing to happen to L.A. since Phil Jackson
So all of you marks tuck in your chain
Or on your next video shoot, you'll be be lookin' like you just got jumped
in the game
For the Row... it's nothin' to bang
Fuckin' ya game
Thuggin' the same
Lovin' the game
You catch a slug in your brain!
You'll be alive at 5:25 and dead by 5:30
Call me a trashman beacuse I always ride dirty
We draw crews and clickin' them
It's all cool...
Cause y'all fools is all too soft
We harder than law school curriculums
Stickin' up 64 victims a minute
Twistin' ya minute
Balistic off the most viscious hylosingenics invented
I drop a line
Rock a rhyme
Shock ya mind
Cock a nine
Stop ya time
Rob ya blind...
Rhyme 'til the block is mine
You can't hit Crooked I; you sound dope
cause them niggaz that wrote your shit... [bit Crooked I]
This Death Rizzo

[Chorus]