I'm not the one...who you want the funk with this nigga here be sick with the shit pull up in the whip make that bitch dip up and down the strip if a motha fuck a wanna talk shit he could get hit with the Tec nine my pistol grip dead In a ditch punk bitch this is what u call a hit or a mothafucking lick..like dice in the game in nothing nice burn fools like wild rice yes your right I'm cold as ice say by when I apply my nine for the boo ride another homicide dropping u bitch niggas like flies right next to the curve u get burnt as I swerve kicking up dirt time for the murk who's first to hit the dirt..what ever comes first....it don't really matter.....blood splatter...leaving chicken chunks of guts ...when a nigga act up some one is going to catch a hot one.....to the city dumped slumped fucked up thought I was a punk....so I had to pop the trunk for the auto matic. strap blasting u niggas aint last in missing in action laying In a casket.. that's how I handle static I get it cracking circumstances drastic critical...to the spital bullet riddle split up the middle trying to play Dre for a fiddle fishizel all is official..catch these missiles aim from my pistol..niggas I told getting my dump on