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Spare us the shame of being killed by a boy! Kings must be killed by kings! Hahahahaa! -- A fine king you'd make! A king who can't even kill his enemy! And has to ask others to do it for him! Even on a battlefield! Hahahahhahaaa! Hahaha! (Crowds cheer) No n-no competition to the shit we got here The real shit, terror to ya ear, kill the fear Got the Glock, got the Glock, got got the Glock To ya headpiece, what! No n-no noo- competition to the shit we got here The real shit, terror to ya ear, kill the fear Kill the fear, kill the fear Got the Glock to ya headpiece, what, what, what What I got the blick and the wild gunnin' (?) Sit the fuck down, it was never about nothin' Jack Pa's espionage of (allowed dungeon) (?) Little (Nub Millah) was talkin' about pumpin' (?) Being a sinner became painful It's clear revelations that came as a strange angel My brother is my brother we came from the same cradle These ain't mink, (bahna) they made from a (gray sable) (?) Letras de cancionesI ain't the motherfucker you should box with We can take it to the guns, homie this a chopstick Put the mafucker in your mouth like it's a swab stick Bring the box-cutter in the mafuckin' cockpit Play (Entiro Roja) till the day break I can never be a dollar short or a day late The SIG Sauer P320 is my namesake The bullet has so much kinetic energy the wave break No competition to the shit we got here The real shit, terror to ya ear, kill the fear Got the Glock to ya headpiece, what No competition to the shit we got here The real shit, terror to ya ear, kill the fear Got the Glock, got the Glock to ya headpiece, what This the reckoning here This is napalm, that's the smell of death in the air You want bombaclat war then the weapons appear I'm the seedy don, squeaky (fry) and mescaline here The (sooner) of the profit, that's the actual fact You think talkin' to one-time is a natural act You see talkin' to one-time that's a vaginal act I went to Pet Semetary now the animal back We burnin' sage, we the northern (alapajo) My heart black homie, yeah it's colder than gazpacho It's a hail of bullets comin' better get yourself a pancho Bandana low on my eyes like I'm a chicano I don't look at homie as a rivalry he a (custy) (?) He stink like (pachoolie) his entirety is dusty We put a fatwah on his head like he Rushdie Me and you is like puttin' a shark against a guppy No competition to the shit we got here The real shit, terror to ya ear, kill the fear Got the Glock to ya headpiece, what No competition to the shit we got here The real shit, terror to ya ear, kill the fear Got the Glock to ya headpiece, what From Letras Mania