From the top Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut up when I’m talking to you Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut up I’m about to br— Wasn’t that fun? Let’s try something else
Forty-five caliber killa but out of the philla-dela-realla show yall brothas how you not a guerilla Smooth talking, fully automatic weapon concealer Taste thriller, break thriller Let’s hit ’em with the bounce filler Filthy stinking, standing on solid ground And still be sinking, submerging in the parks Still be linking, plucked beef when it starts To fuck your thinking, it’s not a mirage I’m in the motherfucking tractor, yo, from out the garage With an if, you to duck, but it’s hard to dodge In the back of the spine where my dawgs, they lie Going to flip it straight up, ripping apart your squad X-ecutioner style, cuts and blends like a syringe Hanging you from each of your limbs See me coming through the party hard without no bodyguard Smoking something, stomping on each of you Tims I’m the B-to-the-L, the A, the C, K And when it comes to planning The thought to keep thinking, man
Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut up Shut up
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