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(feat. Black Ice, Desert Eagle, Frank Banger, INF-Black) [Chorus: Black Ice] The gang'll feel, we a gang of gangstas A gang of gangstas.. what up I might bang this steel, we a gang of gangstas A gang of gangstas.. up The gang'll feel, we a gang of gangstas A gang of gangstas.. what up I might bang this steel, I might bang this steel We a gang of gangstas.. what up [Black Ice] I ain't really talkin' to niggaz, I don't know And I ain't gotta floss to licked by your ho I place slow in the precint, fightin' off the chokehold indecent Try'nna give me the talk, but I won't fold this g, shit Parental discretion advised, advice for my advisaries Get a weapon and ride, Ice comin' soon With a hundred goons who all love to shoot shots Put a tunnel through your coupe, slump your baby mother too All's fear and warfare, that got my team in the crosshairs The gleem left them blind, it seems they all scared Want to get money but your heart ain't there Your mind ain't writin', the drugs got you lost in fear Luv Allah, you in this for the broads, or you wanna ball Letras de cancionesM.O.E., I've seen money seperate dogs Cut your life short with the four four long, real talk Lose this game, you die, hid confined behind them steel bars [Desert Eagle] I'm an animal damn it, slash bandit, slash cannibal Grand it like Hannibal, slash Marilyn Manson Tattoo's, duck tape, snatch dudes for ransom Hundred bricks' of jewels, let me choose a mansion Kill crews, bullet shoes are stampin' Straight dogs are dampin', the spirit of you so called champions My pen is a pillage in Hamptons, wherever you camped in Ya'll all tied up, you and your damn friends You better get 'em pies up, homey's kill kids And everything around you, so you can feel it Don't take it lightly, this is some real shit That Hill shit, duck when I spill clips, your real bitch You not real right, you're ready rock, a real prick And ya'll don't know how it feel, when them things hit You will never know how it feel, when them things hit You won't even hear it comin, cuz it sounds like spit *spit* *spit* It sound like spit Now what sound like this, but a pound in my hit Silencer on the battle, plus I rubber the grip On the barrel, plus I rubber the grip [INF-Black] I lay it thick to bitches, like big dicks picture this You battlin' me for chips, throwin' your best lines Passin' to me spit, I'm throwin' my worst lines And still empty the clip, take over your whole ship Your soldiers are bullshit, talkin' you got a gun But son, you ain't usin' it, play dumb You slung by the force of the bullets For sure I'm gonna pull it, sixteens in your unit The flagolent never prove it I'm a beast to this music, and increase in the streets Cop heat to abuse it, I'm toyin' wit ya'll Young boys with no choice but to follow the rest I swallow your best, technique and tactic Couldn't last one round, be careful it's the draft picks Niggaz get gun downed, get married to they caskets It's easy to see, when I sing, ya'll back it Make me have the plate, talk slick, get ya ass kicked (what up) [Chorus] [Frank Banger] Although I told the son, shine in the darkness, fuckin' with a cat that's heartless Barely cuz my gun jam, or cuz I use a glock with one or two revolvers Twenty two in the ankle, or the glock, nine in the hostler In the street, 57 rips the meat right off your shoulder When I do it, just look at my eyes they're ain't no fear A minute ago you was holdin', now it's rather this Fuck runnin' up in it, with the pockets off the denim Take the cash out the shines, then I'm splittin' Niggaz say I'm chippin', but I'ma trynna make a livin' Picture me livin' in the streets, I'd rather go to prison Three hot, send the cop, fuck that It's 16 hot in his glock, ski mask, black gloves, hit a number spot I hit the lotto without usin' the ticket Ask me how stupid muthafucka, just spit Cuz I'm livin' the street life.. [U-God] I'm slick with my notes, move quick on my cults Talk slick money grip? I'm slittin' your throat Cop a house on the boat, twenty pounds of coke Catch him at the Puerto Rican parade on the top of the float Curry don't need alligator shoes or a furry coats Play me close, I gave him a dose Shot him up with volts, body go up in the smoke The mic pope is back, I throw him in the yoke Head crack, go for broke, nigga, murder he wrote I took her to the crib, we fucked like old folks Death stroke, hand on my balls, got you in a scope I punch you so hard, got you stuck between the ropes Thunderbolts under the blow, shake the ass, vocals show We comin' for war, it's your hope, when my Tech will blow, it effects your hearin' When the game need penicilen, inject the serum It's the livest borough in the headphone portable The last mentioned niggaz in the hip hop quotable [Letha Face] My brain cells are excersized, dismember your body Leave you hard to recognize, check the size of the shotty Eyes foggy from purple haze blunts, surgicul blade graze chumps I open flesh, leave no razor bumps And made this jump up to the sound of frantic gun fire Sware, don't stare, or get aired like spare tires Now you wear wires you government informant I sign your death warrant, your expired without life insurance I'm equipment with a high performance engine The heater stays hot, so now my palms are sinked into the glock My attention's worth to stop your heart from beating Sink your teeth into the bullet for beefin', now you're permament sleeping Pleadin' after I'm Charman squeezin', the desert e'zin You'll be restin' in pieces, that's the opposite of breathin' Receiving head trauma from an infrared llama Son I'm half Dave Berkowitz and half Jeff Dahmer [Ja-Mal] Come on... rap on hold, I'm try'nna get movie cream So my rims'll be bigger than movie screens Ask if I make you cock-eyed, and my flow is lethal Grow on sight, swallowin' peroxide Dudes try to kill the sire, due that Get put on the floor like wheels in tires Look, put the pedal to the metal, don't stop I'm like a tea kettle, little daddy, I'm hot Straight blazin', amazin', Ja-Mal, amazin' Blazin', you sort of get the idea Beef, finish it, can't afford to start it Get your face stepped on like floors and carpets P. Diddy who did he when the son don't shine Gun shots is plenty, clips is all empty Minds filled with envy, love assassin me That's why they call me Lord, your title is type iffy Put this over your fit, I'm ready for violence Grab a gun, a knife or a home appliance, Ja-Mal! [Chorus] From Letras Mania