Brotha Lynch Hung

As I bail through the woods of the southside
Terrors on nine milli chrome kill alone cause I trust no snitch
When I peel a dome and bail
Gone like hell right through the do
I'm rollin' a fat sack of red boogy boo, nigga ooh
Watch me bail nigga but you don't see me though
Cause I'm rollin' fat sacks in the back of my vehicle
But takin' a puff of the dank stuff
and enough that double O-A-E dooz me
I'm slowly loadin' up the oozy
Well now who's he
Well it's that dead motherfucker doe
Well whatcha know comin' through with that murder mo
And I heard you know now whose been bustin' up on the garden block
You either give up the information,
nigga I get shots, so nigga nah WHAT!
I guess you wanna dose of this milla
Twenty-four shots from that mommas baby killa
Nigga mack hustla, cap busta, infact I'm just a mack ten
Bustin' em at your chin before I crept nigga
Welcome to your own death
Chorus x6
Nigga welcome to your own death
(BUCK! For them who don't know bout loc to da brain
Them got them nine millimeter strap and true is the game) x2
So niggas miss my sicc
Some niggas don't know me, niggas don't know my click
That O-loc-double-C-O-G rip gut canibal type of shit
Plus many more caps bust
Anymore sacks to roll up, we need that high back
So niggas done load them nins and pull them high jacks
And lie back in the cut and roll another fat one up
Tack one up for loc to the brain
Them niggas that really don't give a fuck
Around and get buck, shot it up and dump in a truck and left in a cut
So nigga now whatcha gon do with a mini mack ten ten at yo gut