Death Threat

(album: Heavy Rhyme Experience: Vol. 1 - 1992)

Some think that I'm a flake, but I'm no fake nigga
'Cause I take a bitch, make him a witch and burn his ass at the stake
With the .44 mag, it's so simple, put it to his temple
Fuck it, I give a nigga permanent dimples
Easing up on a fast flow, but I'll let your ass go
The product's still hot like Tabasco
Brand New Heavies on the tracks, G Rap on the wax cold bumping
Got motherfuckers doing jumping jacks
You motherfuckers lost it
I bake your ass like a cake and all y'all flakes get frosted
'Cause when G Rap is on the mix
Niggas start shitting bricks and turn into chicks with small dicks
So if it's lyrics with a live band (Yo, this shit is funky)
No, fuck funky, the shit hits the fan
See, if you're stepping to my set, you niggas get wet
Nah, fuck it, it's just a motherfucking death threat

Yeah, I got you bitches on lockdown
You niggas get knocked down
You're running 'cause I'm gunning your block down, punk
So save the bitch riff 'cause my four-fifth lifts
I'm tossing stiffs off fucking cliffs
Get close, I got you on scope, you walking on thin rope
So I'mma shoot 'em up like dope
'Cause to make my notes, I'mma cut throats
Bodies are thrown off boats and do a dead man's float
Straight down a river
Heh! With a bullet inside his motherfucking liver
Another hooker got thrown out
Stepped right into the crossfire and got her brains blown out
So you niggas better duck
'Cause when my pumps full of buckshots, I don't give a fuck
You think you're down with the murder guys?
Bullshit! Say hello to that dirt you're gonna fertilize
You wonder why the area stunk?
Homicide just found ten bones inside car trunks
When they opened the other trunks that was closed
Full of five unidentified John Does
All found dead on arrival
'Cause I pulled up slowly and made 'em Holy like Bibles
They find a letter and cassette
Read and said it's just a motherfucking death threat

Sending bodies to a morgue for a freezing
I got the motherfucking finger on a trigger 'cause it's nigga season
A punk tried to drop me
I left his body sloppy so they can't perform an autopsy
Dig a hole for the bitch
And put all of his pieces and bits inside a ditch
Yo, you don't think you're going under?
I got a bullet with ya name, ya address, and ya phone number
So if you wanna play games
I'm blowing you the fuck out the frame
You tried to front and got murdered last night
So now you're floating to the motherfucking light
So I'mma step to your grave and make a toast
And start shooting at your motherfucking ghost
So may the Lord be wit' ya
'Cause I ain't no saint and I don't paint no pretty pictures
It ain't nothing but bloodshed
Stains of brains on the rug and lead slugs in your head
You wanna make me upset?
Ha! Then I'mma promise you a motherfucking death threat