reprecussions fuckin' with pros These bitches hot 'cause it's hypnotized and no limit We off the wham but only real niggas all up in it I tell you what Serv kill
get mad and they fuss, they don't shine like us They get mad and they fuss, they don't shine like us They get mad and they fuss, they don't shine like
this my brother cash money then went nation But that comes from seven hard years of dedication Fuckin', with my B.G. nigga I'm puttin on your viece and I'm a kill
a straight jacket to restrain me Or more guns with my prints for you to frame me and mame me Nigga, look at you and look at us My duns don't fuss, Harlem
the ocean or the sea You could consider me and them the killa whales and great whites Befo' a nigga tried to click it make them think twice 'Cause they knew Cap would kill
me In some place they looked at us in wide mouthed Maybe because we are heavier than all destructors It's a lot of fuss and you don't have a choice Bite, kill
whole situation a plus Just figure it out, is we dealing wit us? Or do we capture that feeling that makes you curious About whether or not we minimize the fuss
that muthafuckah this way and dump, oh, what? You scared to go to the pen? Thinkin' them niggas gon' tap yo' rump Man, I thought he played bold, be he ain't even fuss
He breaks me down He builds me up He fills my cup I like it rough We fuss, we brawl We rise, we fall He comes in vain But it's okay We do, I do He knows
up Mic's wen I flow! Spit shit to kill [Scat-D] Dropping you like a tonne a bricks [DJ Swiss] Outside Niggaz don't really trust them South side niggaz gettin So what's the fuss
turned for revenge, he started screamin' I killed his friend I started to shake, he started to fuss, he said "Over a god damn six hundred bucks!" Man he could'a killed
got what I need and I got what you want And the hunt for soulmates is all over for us We could go away where nobody would know it was us Leave behind all the fuss
happened to me before, with my man Diadore- Over a Ki(lo) of raw- My nigga got killed, caps got peeled and I still got guilt. He assured me, I was hot
what I need and I got what you want And the hunt for soul mates is all over for us We could go away where nobody would know it was us Leave behind all the fuss
straight jacket to restrain me Or more guns with my prints for you to frame me and mame me Nigga, look at you and look at us My duns don't fuss, Harlem
her daddy's Pontiac Another killer from the wrong side of the tracks America, fast cars, America, the girls, the bars America, don't make no fuss, America
shove it up your ass Followed by the "oohs" and "aaahs" Your foolish pride gonna fuck around and put you on the loosin' side Who got bodied? Nigga, you sick? Then I'm a hot
Songbook baby, I like to thank Mr. Bryan Micheal Cox For helpin' me illustrate my feelin' It's just gettin' too hot, baby, it's gettin' too hot This the