Out on the street moving, big meal in the plate, no fucking debate. Hoody zips back to front, got the sawed off pump, turn yo' head into a stump. Bodies got them on that slump, packing the heater, that 9 milimeter, call that thing my eggbeater. I don't need a meeter or greeter, on these drugs my gums go sweeter. Love to see you bloods running when I pull out that uzi, eat your bitch out like some fine sushi. Mags dumping, fake bitches stunting, drug money funding, on my enemies bones I get to crunching. Bloods the season is open, I'm hunting! Turn your head's into something looking like ravioli sauce, cuz you know out here my bitches and boys call me boss.