Lyrics

I just got to the house, you know what I'm sayin'? Got the phone call, got all the information, you know what I'm sayin'? Had to run back to the car, pulled out the back of the garage, you know what I'm sayin'? Next thing you know: [Verse 1: Brotha Lynch Hung] My meal watching for the police Red beems, I'm gangsterly known, we getting no sleep 'Bout to make a problem, control all, delete, we get no peace The Pac pieces, hold your stomach like [?] Turn non-believers into believers With the Colt Seavers and I'mma creep, keeper, ripper Doin' blows, blowin' on reefer It'll be cheeper, get deeper then cut 'er up in little meat pieces Put 'er in the freezer I guess you can call me the mad butcher I got a little corner where I can put ya 'til it's time to eat ya Beat beater, meat leaker, meat cooker, heat seeker Meat eater, bleedin' your speakers with heaters Smellin' up on premium, not a muthafucka see me I'm a custodian, cleanin' 'em up, cleanin' 'em off You mushroom soup, you must be soft You jerkin' your jimmy, guzzling and still can't come off I'm workin' with Sickness, I'm all stressed out, skinny Tryna get them billion pennies Nigga I do anything, let me put it on the bullet And put it in your brains mane Watchin' them niggas brains hang out after I pull that thang out I be spittin' them hot spits like shots rang out Like AJ, mayday, mayday, fuck what they say I'm permanent, put you back in a hole Like if Bill Gates was runnin' shit You Microsoft, I'm well-done like hot sauce Catchin' everything you sayin' like Randy Moss and runnin' with it You spit it, I done did it, you own it, my gun did it You hold it, my crew hold it, you load it, my dude's loaded Hold up I leave it cold enough Like ice cream splatter your pipe dream and stole your stuff I'm low down and dirty with a four pound, ya heard me? The game's curvy, so I shake 'em niggas like James Worthy You can blame Hershey, god left us all fucked up Nah, I'm like - fuck 'em, stuff 'em The talk is nothin', chuck 'em, gut 'em up and I done 'nough, see if you come back with the same I might have to put it on the bullet, put it in your brains mane [Verse 2: G-Macc] Ey, go get another by Chris (on iTunes) Let's get back to the song, black duffel bag In leather gold, we got the empty Finna get your Colt, get out the semi 'Bout to go Calico, let out the .50 Animal, at your throat, here comes the grizzly She's lying there lifeless, Vicodin, IVs P-P-Put the needle, I mean syringes Fetal position, y'all wanna see some dead bitches? (where?) Listen to Mannibalector, I'mma behead the bitch Put the lead in the bitch, yessir Still got the OA, spit out the whole A bullets sticking out the window, pull it Put it up, get out the area without the full clip, it's empty [?] brain in a [?] Finna get mad, picking up the mag, put it in your back Fill 'em up with that crack Put the knife, get your neck sliced I used to smoke pounds of weed House of the evil, 'bout to go deep throat Another ounce and leave, you can get the axe I'm a cat burglar, I found your niece and your nephew 'Bout to put the TEC to 'em, then I mouth for the evening Seventy rounds and I keep leaning out the Mustang 'Bout to bust 'em at you after we [?] in the morning after butt game Wanna fuck with us? Throwing up the [?] muthafuckin' [?] Put AIDS in the straight razor, I start to cut 'em