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    Verse 1: ( Prodigy )

    I'll noose ya'll, and push ya'll off the edge
    I'm like Ray Benzino 'cause how I hang men
    I got a big caliber gun inside of my Timb
    so I can explode on any mothafucka that grin
    trust me, it's not like that, it's not what you thought
    you'll be like "P shot me and bounced in the Porsche"
    on some real live Mobb shit, Columbo, the Cappo
    I pop niggas, leave the gun right there, I got gloves
    stop niggas from frontin', leave 'em real fucked up
    I drop niggas thats runnin', shoot 'em in they back dun
    coward ass nigga poppin' all that shit
    and when them things popped out you on some Michael Johnson shit
    fuck that, hammer that nigga to the earth
    wanna cross me? you niggas gotta pay that toll first
    and I got change for all that million dollar shit
    and these slugs 'll be the only reason niggas be hollarin'.

    Chorus (Havoc, P, and Noyd)

    Turn this shit up, pump this shit up, DJ mothafuckas burn this shit up,
    we hurt niggas
    Twirl that shit up, burn that shit up, don't make me have the Nine spit
    up, I gives a fid-uck, I hurt niggas

    Verse 2: (Havoc)

    I'm tired of tellin' niggas how the fuck I feel
    you know the steel 'll put them niggas to sleep like Benedryl
    these trash ass rappers and they faggot ass friends
    talkin' like the bitches, walk around like they Men
    niggas like ya'll don't get no respect
    this is Hav', I die once, ya'll niggas die a Thousand deaths
    cowards, you tryin' too hard to be 'bout it
    you know them niggas that be fake be the ones to shout it (Holla!)
    talkin' this and that, but check
    turn around and get robbed in they own projects
    might as well be rappin' on stage for them
    bitches be baggin' you, 'cause you the one feminine
    the sound of these guns got 'em shook, it's a rap
    you could see the yellow stripe runnin' clear down they back
    and let a nigga find out where you live at
    and then blow that mothafuckin' piece of shit off the map.

    Verse 3 (Prodigy)

    Whattup son, dun, surprise nigga, thats how we pop up on 'em
    you off point you die in your sleep, thats the moral
    nigga, you know we get our contraban in
    smokin' that dangerous, you know we got bangers
    you know I'm dead real, I don't know what you was thinkin'
    I'm all over the street, you better stay creepin'
    I shoot niggas fair ones, I'll box you dun
    you'll be six feet in that dirt, I'll stop your run.


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