[Intro]
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Nineteen ninety mother fuckin six
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Pack that shit up
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Get the motherfuckin Squad packed
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We got to pull these shoes out like carpet, word is bond
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Test the crew with the guns and lets get this shit on
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[Verse 1]
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Whyyyyy must I be like that?
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Whyyyyy must I pack the gat?
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All my loud, niggas be rollin with the ruckus
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Ready to get deep bust rounds upon some suckaz
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Heard P.P.P. and L.O.D. is a bunch of crazy motherfuckers
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Journey to the land is on
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The winner of the spittin bomb marathon
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The fuck you up lyrathon, whatever you choose
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Prepare to lose that title
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Turn a vital situations suicidal, my idols, is my Uncles
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Who started smokin weed outta bibles
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Gave me a puff when I bust my first rifle
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Men-estration cycles, I give bitches
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Bring your craziest nigga, Ill give stitches
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Whateva, go crew for crew, blow for blow
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Bang your headpiece and sniff the snow off your ho
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I keep it rollin…
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I kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug, then I jet
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[Verse 2]
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How ugly do you have to be to be a hardcore MC?
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Niggas be fooled by my plaques and my light skin complexture
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My whole texture is bombin, destroyin da schools of the wack
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From the Land of the Lost, you get tossed
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Listen to my veloc(ity), my crews comin off
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Yeah, more sneaky than casino switches
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Diggin ditches for all Moskino bitches
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Clockin decimal figures, Im gettin out diggers
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Now my choice of truck is a Land
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Cause a Landcruise much bigger
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It pack two to three more niggas
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Damn I hate a golddigger
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Yeah, gimme that microphone
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I make opponents shit bricks like Tysons home
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I keep the jacked cellular phone blown in three zones
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Love seafood and keep my nine millimis chrome
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So it can shine up your dome
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When I proceed to give you what you need and clear spots like Sea Breeze
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Wreckin your ass armageddon style
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Twenty four seven while
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My crew chin check your profile
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(Rollin…)
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I kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug, then I jet
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[Verse 3]
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Im the master of disaster, super rhyme maker
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Grimy by nature, database maker
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Play em out like Sega, Saturn
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Blow your blocks in patterns for about nine acres
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Testes, crew wearin bulletproof and double Ss
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Karl Kani down, camoflouge cant hide the sounds
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Of a fo pound (boo-yaa)
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Givin you Six Flags, bustin merry go rounds
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But my crew stay ill with that unreal appeal
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I be the raw water, my cheek bones outta have gills
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Below like the opera
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Smooth on the trigger for all you block cockers
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I be the key to criminology
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Blast and rotate enemies at three buck sixty
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Pick me, as your Senator
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Take the love from your battlefield son, fuck Pat Benatar
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Run, head for the hills
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Back in the day, these niggas rolled up on me with
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The trunk filled with Bomber Brooklyns, sheeps and quartervilles
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Aiyyo take that shit, aiyyo Money snap the grill
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Body caught chills as he ate this nine mil
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Mine kills two but my nine was sign sealed
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And ready to deliver, but Money had me too close
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To reach for toast, soon as that nigga blink I broke ghost
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Dash back to South Orange Ave with dollar bill to smoke dope
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I keep em rollin…
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[Outro]
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This is DJ SAY WHAT on this motherfucker
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Sayin the dick is long, but my time is short
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Before I go, just remember
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If your box aint on FDS radio, youre fuckin up
