Bust Your Gun (from "Exit Wounds" soundtrack)

Shit is crazy.. can't believe it
Ha, haha, oooh, shit

We don't give a fuck about you frosting ya hand (fuck),
cause knocking off these bricks then often yo' man
That's the kinda boss that I am (why not),
and I'ma play shotgun, smoke the pores make a van
Hollaring at you so deep and so sick wit' the guns
When I walk by the wake I want the cough in the stand (stand up)
So hold up for one minute (what)
You won't catch me in the tub, in the whip,
or the club without a gun in it,
and don't come through the strip,
looking hard in the car, with ya motherfucking daughter and ya son in it
Lately I been missing my fred, the roof pop (too hot),
but feel me cause he hitting the stairs, the truth pop
Niggaz think this album cuts (haha!)
I'm like fuck it, I'm the nigga comin through the door wit two revolvers up (two 'em),
and I'm taking all drama,
and I spent twenty thou' motherfucker so I just got more problems

[Chorus]
You got'sta bust yo' gun,
cause if you don't then niggaz know you won't they gon' touch yo' ones
Got'sta bend yo' knife,
cause if you don't then niggaz know you won't they gon' change yo' life

Aiyyo, who gotta my name huh?
Who think it's a fucking game (c'mon)
Like yo' money can't be found under the cane (y'know)
Like yo' body can't be found under the trains
Like this punk we'll shatter apart your brain (bla!)
I'ma thug wit' no scars, and no braids,
but I could aim, and shoot through the heart or your shades
I'm too row, plus too quick on the gat (uh-huh)
Hate water, but I leave you wit' a wills play-back
I don't give a fuck if all y'all go to the cops,
and I don't give a fuck if none of y'all gimmie my props
I got shit in my name and my credit is worse
What's to stop me from shooting you first? FUCK YOU! (haha)
I'm like tattoos, you forget that I'm there (uh-huh)
To the gun fire perm your hair
Miss you, and go strait through your moms rocking chair,
through her back and it ain't stoping there!

[Chorus x2]

Bounce my niggaz.. c'mon
Sheek and S.P., rock, rock on (c'mon)
Bust shots 'til your glock can't pop no more (hahaha)
Let it down 'til your top can't drop no more (uh-huh)
Hit you up 'til your spirit where the Eagles fly (c'mon)
Talk to me, if you really come back then you'll die (c'mon)
Make me believe, no shirt but still got some shit up my sleeve
No asthma, making it hard to breathe
Let's go, aiyyo Styles take this motherfucking mic from me, c'mon

Aight.. aiyyo, P'll tell it like story, just like a narrator
Ya don't mean it, we snapping it like the Aligators
Open ya eyes so you can see what the drama mean
I hit ya man in the cheek wit' a barber blade,
and I'm in the first floot at the [?] Parade
Forty on the weights wit' a fifty on the garcarade
Always got the route, never had the heart to beg
You ain't seeing shit 'til a slug rip a part'a head

[Chorus x4]