(Brotha Lynch Hung) I got that spit venom
shit that'll
wrinkle up ya denim shit
Fuck them niggaz they all hoes
I run up in them quick
Turn 'em into statues,
lead tattoos I stay
Twenty four deep and bring niggaz the
bad news like
The Metro Section I spit petrol
like gas nozzles
Bang wid my thangs nigga,
you the last models
From the Garden to the creep
module
I'm off the bottle makin'
money like I won the lotto
You wanna follow wid ya tongue stickin'
out ready to lick these nuts
Had a dream watchin' me get out
the four door to get these guts
I spit flames,
beat niggaz like Rick James get aim
Cause like Pac's attraction I grip thangs
And it's hard and cold it'll make
ya heart a cold
I sweat so much I'm so
hot, I'm hard to hold
And I'll tell you somethin'
else fool Suspicion for life
Have you comin' home from
work late, missin' ya wife
And ya kids and ya cribs tore up,
I leave ya ribs tore up
Nuttin' else better I do,
than cut up cold cuts
I'm a meat eatin',
skin collector been connected
Wid some niggaz that'll cut you in the
neck and leave you butt naked
Layin' dead in ya Lexus, what
you doing?
Fryin' niggaz like they do out in Texas,
Why?
Lyin' to niggaz cause they
fakin' the love
You be the one takin' the slug
And you show me that you ain't got no
love for me I'm done cuz
(Hook) Niggaz that say they real fake
as fuck
Have you left set up dead in a vacant lot
No matter what they can talk
all that gangsta shit
If ya gangsta walk still ain't shit
I break ya loccs and run up
in yO shit
(Suspicion)
Look we roll shit blow shit,
I been blue shit
Old shit new shit, keep it true shit
Always in a blue fit, and
old school kicks
Posted where they move
bricks if it was me quick
I sold shit stole shit, I had to move shit
Old shit new shit, to keep a few chips
Man my life wasn't nothin'
sweet
At fifteen years old was
livin' out on the street
With rocks between my teeth like where the fuck
I'm gon' sleep
Grandmomma don't want me
and I ain't seen dad for weeks
And momma ain't never
been there for me
It's like she probably never
cared to shed a tear for me
So now the whole world's
like a glare to me
Through all these hard times can
barely see prepared to leave
But I dare one of these cats wid no
haps for they fame
This rap's for the tracks yeh
they wack but they flames
Tryna dirty up my name, I leave 'em stained
Gunshots to middle of
they brain, I leave 'em drained
Duck cops from here to the gate,
I leave 'em dazed
Bust shots at all of them
cops this shit be crazed
Cause fuck goin' back to that
place I take the grave
Whether you see me go out
ridin' or as a slave
Just look at how they got us,
dealin' wid drama
Fuck it pour another shot of that Vodka load
up the chopper
(Hook x2) (Brotha Lynch Hung) I'm young black
shit wid mack shit
In the back shit make
'em do back flips
You must be off that crack shit
Fuckin' wid the tactics
got spitz like a gat spit
And I'm gonna rip a nigga
to bits for instance
I burn incense and think about shit
I don't need your ten cents juts break 'em
right quick (then what?)
Shake 'em right quick (then what?), make
'em bite dick
You suck lug nuts ya love nuts I plug stuff,
cut guts up
Ya tough luck punk, fuckin' wid
flames around gas
Heat, enough heat to cook
ya turkey fried deep like
Louisiana blow sacks like
Santana might
Run up in ya spot with
the dark blue bandana right
Wid banana clips takin'
you out, run in ya house
Let the nine milli cum in ya mouth
Runnin' the South like Cash Money
I bang niggaz in the head you a crash
dummy
I mash niggaz
(Hook x2)
Brotha Lynch Hung 
