'em into track stars You know my name baby that's Weezy Fuckin' Baby And if that nigga hatin' on ya then fuck him baby I tell 'em fuck 'em girl 18 inch
ya body riddled, weazin and coughin, hear bout it live, fox 5, and monica coffman u fuck wit mine, I cross ya lifeline, im a graffiti artist, paint chalk out outlines and
my paper good Leave ya body riddle, weezin and coughin Here about live Fox 5 with Monica Coffin You fuck wit mine i pause ya life line im a graffiti artist paint, chalk outlines And
girl and strip, they all twirl and trip in yaw world They dip and all thorough and hip Hustlers, they sluts and drug smugglers Money, they double up, throw that stuff up and
in my pocket I'm on South Beach with that top off Bad bitch and her ass soft Something out of that catalogue She introduced to that lock jaw And I think
'll cough up A hard rock soft fuck [? ] Get caught up and get washed up, In Detroit or Northfolk, When it's disrupt and nauseas, Look deep in my eye and
I'm gonna hold it and walk around the stage And if you fuck up, I'm gonna get my gauge and shrivel you up Like California raisins, unload the barrel and
and you wig is all intact Who's that queen bee chick, eyes curly black Freaks be movin' in fly sneaks Two finger rings and gold teeth and ain't afraid
I don't give a fuck You gon' make me crawl through your backyard And cut off your lightswitch Kick in your back door, and take all that white shit Niggas
'012 why rep that hard? And who the fuck dug him up from Wyclef's backyard? But off him, not a part of you is trife And you can't afford the drama when
'll jack you for pants leg Don't beg you're dead, and don't dare show fear Young gangsta fucked wit Scrappy and Red tore off his head And all the kid
and don't dare show fear Young gangsta fucked with Scrappy and Red tore off his head And all the kid do was cry like a bitch His life was a pit and mine
into track stars You know my name baby, that's weezy fuckin' baby And if that nigga hatin' on ya then fuck him baby I tell 'em fuck 'em girl 18 inch
though Jimmy ain't the president, he the CEO Zeke is the president, it's evident, he'll cock and spray Santana underboss, I sign off like Dr. Dre I fuck
Runnin' wit nothin' but hard heads like Fry Thang and Kevin Goin' to clubs reppin', hollin' fuck goin' to Heaven 'Cause I'm out here, look like my luck fucked up And
and done away and we doin' it [Incomprehensible] Holla, yeah, it's the rep F R double the E, tell 'em Cross the line, flip ya V? Ya lost you mind? Don't fuck
-Zone, my name is Lisa Mitchell from Fuck-Off Magazine And I'd like to do this interview with you Oh really You released two albums for critical acclaim and
on a page in your Qu'ran, I learned that, in '89 When I was slingin' cocaine and baby 9's Put it in rap and I gave ya'll a way to rhyme God guides us