4 in a Clip

Lyrics

[Intro: Styles P] Yeah, what up? You know who it is, S.P. The Ghost Right now you're listening to Untold Scriptures Sickest Mixtape out right now Yo, Nino, what up, my nigga? [Verse 1: Styles P] Deuce-deuce in the deuce five Hollow points, bullets ricochet on your insides Men die, get buried and forgot They try to kill me a lot but they ain't pick the right tool to come and pick a lock It's the Ghost, Nino, [?], G Rap, wait Godfather, let me know who I should castrate Untold Scriptures, long walk my feet got blisters Heat got me twisted Long hawk pointed at a sword, I won't miss it The corpse, I kiss it Mob rules, our rules, you ain't get'cha fingerprint Just another rapper on some singer shit Two lobby, swingin' it, worry niggas Mother fuckin' bury niggas Terror of ast era this one and the next one Still get based the same day that the check come You don't want a knife in your rectum, American Me Blood In, Blood Out when you fuckin' with P I get it in like a esé, better yet the army Gun shoot 'til the next day Can't find a phone with an x-ray when P get done Knock your fuckin' legs off when I seen 'em run Whoa [Verse 2: Nino Bless] Now I'm sick of what these lames be spittin' like 50 Cent hook's what The Game's been missin' How the fuck you gon' claim a position? Your shit's crack? Well I must be the raw 'caine in the kitchen Wait, these kid's talkin', give off the impression like they don't know 'who shot ya's' a rhetorical question Like they can't get got once you's taught a few lessons That's why I ain't get popped, nobody forced me to listen I watched you fly, spotted jetted leeches Hood nigga who gets deeper than Frederick Beecher Keep a clip for a snitch who tips off You jits is chips off of niggas you bit off Some slick talkin' his [?] across your jug' I'ma big dog, the [?] lettin' off with the grub I see [?] while I'm [?] your mug Sick thoughts, hit you with a few slugs then Crip Walk in your blood, bitch This game's a rip-off and assbackwards like them jeans on Kris Kross I mean, I'm fit for it but I stay with a plan B Plan C, sling trees, make twenty a grand, weed Man, please, ask around, my fam squeeze And they stay in the hood like niggas that can't read One false move, two shoots, you done I'm the one-man band, the Juice crew in one, nigga [Verse 3: Joell Ortiz] Man, y'all heard the ball rap so go 'head and fall back 'Cause you don't want your face takin' the place of a doormat Go 'head and act stupid like Borat, you get your jaw cracked You be stretched on the floor long than that Saw cat That red fluid that swim through your body, you'll pour that Well, it's blue before that but you'll lose all that My bullets'll escort you, show you where that morgue at Then my lawyer'll beat the case with a baseball bat One shot, two shot, three shot, oh No, I got a four, no, five, no, six-shot four-four So what y'all wanna be a foe for? It leave giant holes like fee-fi-fo, whoa You niggas talkin' but you don't live it, it's awkward Why would you even floss it, knowin' you'll come up off it? I know lil' dudes whojust can't afford it They'll stick in [?] then stay broke and sport it Never has a planned out hit been aborted More people than we expected is more people in orbit We excellently put the X on those to be extorted Don't have your contract and tribute to my next mortage My attitude towards it? Man, I can't call it 'Cause see, I might spoil it, then you'll sip it and get nauseous For those who don't know the slang, what I'm sayin' is this Never ever will y'all know when I'm finna play with that fifth [Verse 4: Kool G Rap] I'ma good to armageddon with armor and weapons, [?] is depressin' Arm, leg, leg, arm, head, palmin' the Wesson Blow your head, arm, leg, leg, arm into sections Fire fire, arms your direction, I supply you pawns you could rest in I expire calm with aggression, prior to palmin' your intenstines I'm pumped up Kid, I don't live fuck, crunk cups I lift the grail like I'm the one that was failed, nailed in a Christian tale But as a victor, I will prevail My foot will trail well, it'll register 'bout a twelve on the Rictor Scale Man, a sack right out there in Sac could tip the scale Focal packs like the Anthrax, they shipped the mail I'm a dragon with a exhale with a whippin' tail Box you up like them niggas that sit down after three minutes and spit in pails I strip and tell like the strippin' males at Chip N Dales Style confusin' this cold fusion I'm a master at speedin' street money up from slow movin' Doctor's degree in the fast lane, I'm no student Mass killer, first to blast, last to quiver X pinched last dealer, so what's up where I stash skrilla Benjamin math peeler with a couple of [?] in the chiller It's all real, homie