they sever ears Hard to the roots a hundred proof with no chaser Scarves and some boots a hundred troops with chrome bangers Now rock with me, I spray blocks with
(So who is it?) The fool who visits the playground With two biscuits to lay down the school district Get pissed with a whip with a Marseburg With a pistol
December With your hand to hold Oh It's you I miss the most Every time it snows Carollers and revellers Their songs are bittersweet The streets are full
with your hand to hold. Oh, it's you I miss the most every time it snows. Carolers and revelers, their songs are bittersweet. The streets are full but
Anna, to old ladies name Manna They hold'n up they banners, and run'n wit they cameras Can I get a flick you damn right miss Can I take a hit Here boo
, the original guitarist, and Jay, the original bassist) were missing, it was still a reuinion of sorts and a return to straightforward punk rock (although a
kill people... with guns. (pow!) Guns don't kill people (nuh uh) I kill people... with guns. (pow!) (Verse 2) If a guy messes with me I'll shoot him with
B-Real's verse] You got the Real-a Swingi' of my nuts Cube Killa Break maself niga, huh! Dick-a lick-a You ain't a killa You a busta Muthafucka Bitch
B-Real's verse: You got the Real-a Swingi' of fmy nuts Cube Killa Break yourself niga, huh! Give a lick-a You ain't a killa You a busta Muthafucka Bitch
] You got the Real-a Swingi' of my nuts Cube Killa Break yourself niga, huh! Dick-a lick-a You ain't a killa You a busta Muthafucka Bitch made niggaz
a fuck if it's right or wrong So butt the Buddha light a bong but take a look at Mariah Next time I inspire you to write a song come on Oh, oh, oh, oh
if a n-gga wanna trip, good grip on the chrome empty out a clip from the fifth then I?m gone twist up a spliff, get a fifth of Patron hate a chick who
be a fool but speaker with average ever number one but ain't not it's rattle game so I zone and zones of I been a special with sounds so ill I be witness
Posted on the block proper with the hammer vested Bitch came with empty hands, that's the hand she left with Thirsty ass with the water and it sounded desperate Break a
so I had to write a song Use to be the guy that always made her cry when I'm gone Always kept a stable and we never spent a night alone No cable or no
uhh Yo I'm the verbal-spit Smith Wesson I unload with sick spit, the quick wick could split a split-second Bomb with a lit wick expression You here a
's a bad combination Like Mad Child with an AK-47, a bottle of Jack and a home invasion Make you knock, laughin' as you strapped to the mattress A can
That came with the master plan that got you So know who's opposed to the dominant dark skin Food for thought as a law for the brother man P-Dog with a