Gangsta shit, bitch!
Just fuckin around.
Lyrics
Verse One:
I'm what they call a microphone-muderer/
Stay away from me, I'm the type-to-go-murder-ya/
Supply-the-blows-hurtin-ya, for certain ya want-none/
Crush-punks and I clutch-guns till the funk's-done/
I'ma run thru-ya-click until I'm thru-wit-it/
Ruin-shit, who-is-this trick tryna shoot-the-shit?/
Clueless-bitch, I don't fuck with you stupid-kids/
Goin dumb are you a son or is this dude-a-chick?/
These kids think they sick-but-they-not/
Click-Click-bust-a-glock, tick-tick-don't-fuckin-talk/
Or I'm gonna-pop cuz I can't stand-the-slang/
Shaboobalaboopie? Gaaaawd DAMN-it's-lame/
HOOK: (x2)
Make no mistake, it's the muthafuckin West-Coast
NYGHTMARE creepin with guns in the trench-coat
Slugs gonna get-blown, lunge and I let-go
All hail to the king, when you hear this vet-flow
Verse Two:
Don't get it twisted, I aint hatin-on-the-Bay/
Just the slang-&-the-rap, cuz it's gay-&-it's-whack/
My gage-gonna-clap if you fags-wanna-step-up/
Blast-on-ya-set-chump, splat-when-the-tek-dumps/
..I'ma break you motherfuckas in-half/
Roll with Stones like Mick-jack, in the zone you get-cracked/
Six-pack makes an impact, supplyin what a spliff-lacks/
When my gun blows you smell the powder like you sniff-crack/
This-that sick-rap you been waitin-for/
Got an illness in my mouth like a fuckin canker-sore/
Hit the bank-&-score, a couple grand-in-cash-bitch/
You kids talk shit cuz you can't stand-my-tactics/
Damn-I'm-savage, I'll leave ya ass-in-a-cast/
Black mack-when-I-blast, I attack-with-the-straps/
Put the glock to ya face, put a cap-in-ya-mask/
Layin on the lawn, like you tryna camp-in-the-grass/
HOOK: (x2)
Make no mistake, it's the muthafuckin West-Coast
NYGHTMARE creepin with guns in the trench-coat
Slugs gonna get-blown, lunge and I let-go
All hail to the king, when you hear this vet-flow
