(feat. Pimp C, Spice 1 & Vicious)[Pimp C:]Uh, the damn place made me crazyI don't care about nothing but my daddy my granny, my bitch and my babiesEverything else, is expendableFind out that fake niggaz, ain't dependableI don't owe, you niggaz shit bitchHome light weight but my style great, now my pockets is the shitNow it's time, for expansionBought a nice house for parole, now I'm grind up building a mansionI'm a rapper, and a game capperBlue and red like a snapper, got a thang for them pussy ass jackersThat ain't, no real hustleGet some white gold or work it, and getting some real muscle bitchIf you want it, you can sho 'nuff get itMade me bust your watermelon, come on down fuck with itEverybody, ain't no punkI'm talking to you now boy, don't make me go and pop the trunk biatch[Hook:]Everyday, me keep it sucker freeMe not fuck with nobody, so why do them fuck with meDon't test me temper, make me have to watch me coolMack buyacka-buyacka, I didn't wanna act a foolBut I'm a murderer, murdererI'm a murderer, murderer[Spice 1:]It's Mr. Bossilinie, rolling up busting with real ridersDrop them b-b-bombs, like I'm up in Al QidaCause I'm a murderer, put it on you haters for realHit a nigga with the 4-5, get to dumping slugs all in his Caddy grillSmoke chronic for my glaucoma, yeah I said glaucomaI got a motherfucking glock, and I put niggaz in comasHit corners on 24's, waving hi at your hoesWith bald heads braids, perms and afrosI'm caked up like Duncan Hi, but I'm not your average do' boyI autograph a slug, and put you on the flo' boyIt's the Spiceberg Slim, Soprano Montana mindsI done been through the flames, walked through the motherfucking fireThey can never, put my flame outAnd if I wasn't high, I'd pull your motherfucking brains out murderer[Hook][Z-Ro:]Everyday I label my loot, leaving you ladies lonelyI don't love pussy, I just love to murder these niggaz when they walk up on meY'all don't know me, some of y'all rappers think y'all know meThis nigga right here don't give a fuck though, so I suggest you hoes step backWhat I got in my pants is called a, that's too big to fit in a holster gatStraight from where niggaz sell that mad crack, just ran him over crackIt ain't no love in Missouri City, my partna I know it look niceA 4-5 fuck around, hit a nigga you'll get took twiceMight get beat up and robbed, or you might get beat up and shotIt all depend on what you riding in, and if it look like you got a lot or notI use to think I'd have a future, playing basketballBut lately all I been doing, is putting people in caskets y'allAm I sorry hell naw, if I sent him he was already on his wayWhen the grim reaper swing by, it'll make you wish your ass was home todayFuck with me I'ma hit up Spice, it ain't a thang to tap the trigger twiceBrrr-click brr-click, they sideways into the next life[Hook]
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