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MP3 3.6 MB • 128 kbps • 2:38
Lyrics
-K Shyne-
now listen, the kid here's a problem in the makin..
the name will get anybody's heart to start pacin..
when cats speak, i aint feelin pressure...
coz everything come of they mouth sweet like pez dispensers..
i aint never pop a G'...
but im sure to drop one quicker
than when i take my chick out on a shoppin spree..
run wit me, you might cop a deal..
try play, gon find ya top shaved like Doctor Phill..
and all the girls wanna cop a feel..
pressin on me, like monica lewinsky tryna cop a bill..
imma man with skills, considered a threat..
put a holster in ya hips and have ya feelin the west..(wes)
you gon see me ball, and im spittin raw..
ill put the pump to ya chest like a CPR..
ya aint gon see no flaws, ya aint gon see me fall..
fake dukes with lo cash, yall from CB4..
-Urban AKA-
ayo, fuck them trifalin cats... they'll smile in ya face..
but when you turn around, they'll put a knife in ya back.
I can tell when you writin ya raps..
I don't like what you act.
You the type to wanna bite when you scrap.
don't bring a knife to a fight, i'll have ya life in my gat.
live like a stereotype, I got the right to be black.. yeeah.
i'm a real thug, killed niggaz and deal drugs.
I got my cake and the icing to that...
this talk is real, it aint in ya head...
so when I say i'll have ya, wife in the sack... it aint in ya bed.
cuz i dont plan on fuckin her..
ill prolly put the cane to her head, and she aint puff enough..
so I start buckin her.
stop wit all the hatin soon. i'm quick to reach for mags.
like an impatient nigga in a waitin room..
and I ain't talkin about a cover wit zippers.
when I make you niggaz sleep-in bags...
faster than the heat can blast...
-K Shyne-
i been a monster, but this aint a horror movie..
yall just mad, coz on ma shows, ya broads a groupie..
ma heart of stone, its hard to move me..
red dots on ya head, like i come home and yell out "LUCYYYY!"..
i can tell yall pussy's, aint men at all..
yall niggas not real, yall men are frauds..
im savage dawg, and I handle my things..
while yall hang around pussys like tampon strings..
so if ya neck and ya hands on bling then hide it..
or ill put the pressure to ya stomach and guts like heimliche..
and ill slay the lames, when i spray the guage..
ill ya boys stretched out like flava flav..
i got that major cake..
and since yall niggas wanna be like me, you can send ya tapes to MADE..
im still on the grind and im makin stacks..
now im bout to let ma boy urban holla and bring it back!..
-Urban AKA-
like a bitch, is how I can't afford to be treated.
just enough, don't use a gun more than it's needed.
but honestly, I'm gettin tired of this microwave shit talk.
it's not gonna take long, before it gets heated.
so yeah I stomp rappers.
cuz I'm tired of these "Stomp" rappers.
try turn garbage into music.
but I'm a man first... i'll let the hams burst.
cuz I ain't a rap artist when the tool spit.
and I swear until I make loot.
imma have the entire strip jirate loose.
make the nine unspine they troops..
make the whole motha fuckin crime rate boost. ya heard me nikka.
you gotta keep the cake under floors.
so if you decide to take one of mine, imma take one of yours.
imma have yo ass dyin from anger, have ya crew hidin from danger.
betta keep ya eye on a stranger bitch..
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