(feat. Ice Water Inc., Ultra)
|
|
|
|
[Intro: P.C.]
|
Don't take it per-son-al.. it's only mu-sic
|
Holla at me.. yo! Yo!
|
Ice Water! Yo.. yo.
|
|
[P.C.]
|
Try me, P.C.'ll put a clip in a nigga
|
Fuck a hole, my bullets'll dig a ditch in a nigga
|
Listen, I've been reppin', only pack big weapons
|
One shot to the stomach, you missin' ya midsection
|
I'm off the wall, dog, I could off ya balls
|
Stick his ass to the rooftop, toss 'em off
|
Hit the Ave with the rooftop off the porch
|
I get money cuz it costs to floss, nigga you feelin' me?
|
And if not then fuck what you gotta deal with me
|
I've only been here for a minute but haters wanna get rid of me
|
P.C. creep with at least three heats
|
And a shotgun stashed underneath the backseats
|
|
[Stumic]
|
Niggas actin' like you don't feel a draft
|
You seen ya man? Tell him I'ma kill his ass
|
And I don't, wanna talk I want a mill in cash
|
I come through 'tards shittin', lookin' ill in the past
|
Cuz it's the, Ice Water, don't get it confused
|
And one false move'll cause me to spit at you dudes
|
It's Stumic, motherfucker and I'm pickin' ya food
|
And ain't no one out you know that my niggas'll do you
|
Let's spit on 'em, rush these niggas
|
and crush several fuckin', will leave a dent out ya liver
|
Only kid in the hood with a mustard ninja
|
Heard you broke down good, well I fucked ya sister
|
|
[Chorus x2: Stumic]
|
Eh yo we Wyld in Da Club, style in the club
|
This is for my niggas gettin' down in the club
|
At the bar throwin' down rounds in the club
|
Talk slick and get the four pound in ya mug
|
|
[Break: Polite singing]
|
Yo I keep my gun on me, what the fuck y'all want from me?
|
Y'all touch my property somebody gon' die, uh-huh
|
This ain't no joke, it's for real
|
My niggas they totin' they steel
|
All it takes a phone call and they ready to ride
|
Get ready to die
|
|
[Polite]
|
Eh yo the cards are dealt, the words are spoken
|
Nigga, welcome to the Hell, the gates is open (uh-huh)
|
Gatekeeper, first degree murder through the speaker
|
Who deep enough to flow with the reaper?
|
Stuck in the middle, I spit a little riddle
|
Leavin' niggas crippled, my niggas ball 'em like Kerry Kittles
|
You niggas makin' it hard, it's really kinda simple
|
If a nigga gotta pull it out I'm puttin' it in ya temple
|
|
[Ultra]
|
Official I do this, rude maneuver
|
I use the Rugers to keep the bullets movin' through ya
|
Weak anatomy, fuck the small talk and flattery
|
Ya power is weak, to beef you need much more batteries
|
Keep it genetic, or dead it, Ice Water Inc. we said it
|
Whoever so-called did it or said it, promote it and spread it
|
Fake it or front it, get ambushed and confronted
|
With slugs in ya head, back, chest and stomach
|
Niggas don't want it or ask for it, so we give it to 'em
|
Dead in the club and let them things spit and rip through 'em dead in the club
|
Is you gon' fuck around and be the nigga dead in the club?
|
(Yeah? Uh-huh..)
|
|
[Chorus x2]
|
|
[Raekwon]
|
Egyptian look, gazelles on, L's lit, this how it's goin' down
|
Ski mask, Chanel shit, move like a terrorist click
|
Nineteen eighties babies, worldwide, ya girl on our dick
|
All you know is Rae look good, he hood
|
Envision the flips, I make money like them niggas who take money
|
Fresh out the can, Duran look, Astro van
|
The ill Castro, rap Son of Sam
|
More Rugers, more bow and arrows
|
Still no losers, forty five dollars ahead
|
Go at niggas shootin' lyrical leads
|
Stop absorbin, break shit, knock that gay shit out ya head
|
|
[Chorus x2]
|
|
-----------------
|
Wild In Da Club
|
Raekwon |