Print

I got your card, fool, you think that niggas ain't deep You called me nigga, now my homies put that cracker to sleep I'm ready to set-trip, nigga, go get your shit I'm ready to slit, no fuckin joke Bullet Loc, I'm comin to slit your throat I'm in the chow hall ( ? ) nigga for pork chops Wonderin will it ever stop Black, whites and s.a.'s on ( ? ) But you got your strap and I got my strap and you gon' do your thang And I gots no love for you cause nigga, you not from my gang So you take your side and I take my side and ride till we all die Homicide the opposite of suicide How does it feel to have that shank in ya? Ugh, Mr. Ray Dog is gankin ya Ah, battery pack to the back of the dome Parole shot me down, so it ain't no goin home So now I won't see board for a year But in between I'm loc'in up, shakin a few and drinkin a bottle a of Thorazine Dazed out, wishin that I could come back In the rubberroom ass-naked holdin my sack But no doubt, I gets back out in six months time They bustin a spread to celebrate, right, back on main line Bust some flicks for a couple of bitches before I do work Cause when I'm puttin it down, it ain't no tellin who get hurt Cause I be kickin up all this dust without no fuckin trigger So now you understand why no cracker don't call me nigga From Letras Mania