Killas

(アルバム： Crunk Rock - 2010)

C'mon!
Elephant Man!
(It's gonna be a massacre)
Lil Jon!
[?]
Ice Cube!
We got The Game! (Game)
(Dem think we are playing)

[?]
(Hey, hey!)

You fucking with some killas (Bullets)
You fucking with the motherfucking realist niggas
You fucking with some killas (Killas)
You fucking with the motherfucking realist niggas (Hey)

I wish a motherfucker would say something
Fuck around and get your goddamn ass whooped
Nigga I feel like starting some shit
And I might just snap the piss, out a pussy ass nigga like you, nigga fuck ya
Take a 45 cross the head gun butt ya (yeah!)
Ya'll pussy-ass niggas ain't hard
Stomp that ass out like a million man march
Sawed off shotgun hand on the pump
Finger on the trigga, I'm ready to dump
Blow a motherfucker, bye bye
Point blank range, yeah niggas gon' die ([?])
That's why I never leave the crib without packing my gat
Strap on my vest, put on my hat
Motherfuckers outta line getting laid down flat
Imma show you how a real nigga act

[?]
(Hey, hey!)

You fucking with some killas (Bullets)
You fucking with the motherfucking realist niggas
You fucking with some killas
You fucking with the motherfucking realist niggas

It's 3, the hard way
Black Lambo, no passengers
Black Ski mask, chain saw massacre
Cube pass me the AK-47 (Come on)
(Blacka) Yellow tape the intersection
Loaded clips, lock 'em in
Got a black 45, call it Pac's revenge
I'm a motherfucking animal
Lil Jon beat cannibal
Every nigga in Atlanta know
I'm psycho insane about my cash
They can re-open Alcatraz
And sentence me the life without rehabilitation
Fuck Governor Schwarzenegger, nigga it's my statement
Dear Mr. President Barack Obama, right after you catch Osama
Tell Mr. Waso, please let Oprah know (Oprah know)
That I won't ever stop saying bitch and ho

[?]
(Hey, hey!)

You fucking with some killas (Bullets)
You fucking with the motherfucking realist niggas
You fucking with some killas (Come on)
You fucking with the motherfucking realist niggas

We run A-Town, we run LA (Show em')
Now get down on your motherfucking belly
Before this AK make you do a ballet
It's the nut cracker, I'm the linebacker
Three motherfuckers, hard as concrete
Y'all motherfuckers soft as Gandhi
Pull that thing out, now you a zombie
All damn quick you know where I be
West side rolling, all day, everyday
Got your bitch open, you're fucking with heavyweights
Like, weights stay on my space
And stay the fuck outta my face ([?])
Ghostwriters I'm on ya'
From Atlanta, Georgia to California
This shit can't go no longer
And when I catch ya, I'm a-don ya

[?]
(Hey, hey!)

You fucking with some killas (Bullets)
You fucking with the motherfucking realist niggas
You fucking with some killas
You fucking with the motherfucking realist niggas