[Brotha Lynch Hung]
I'mma let it be known
That I'm with the foe so n***a you know it's on
Oil my chrome cause I got murder in my blood and in my chromosone
For the fact that I take none, pack a gun in my dang-a-lang
That n***a that n***a that gang bang no never that n***a that claim
Yeah, I'm a n***a eating Jesus brains
I got the evil in my muthafuckin back and in my muthafuckin veins
Wearing my black to creep
Momma told a muthafucka he'd be dead in a week
So n***a what? load me like a tre five sev
Pass the dank takin dead body's to the blood bank
And while I hook em up proper
I got them swallowing in my loaded heart stopper
POP! POP! the trigga fiend, the n***as spleen
Plus the barrel on my muthafuckin nine, lookin plus
That n***a that n***a that runs them mothafuckas back
I got you fiendin for a n***a like you fiend for crack
Cause its like that mo wicked then a n***a might get mine packed
Cause in the 4 you know never know you better gat right back
So n***as know us brothas can't go out like that
Sellin my momma the crack, watch yo back cause(You know I had to gat ya)

Chorus: repeat 4X

(Yeah, you know I had to gat ya)
(187 on a) (n***a)
[BLH]
Yeah, picture your death
That n***a that siccness
Figure to sick this, foo
That n***a that rips
The wickedest look at that n***a that siccness drops
And as my trigga goes Pop! Pop! Pop!
That n***as be ducking from the buck shot
See, fuck it when the gat drops, you know its in a hoes cot
So there it goes, not the average n***a
The baby killa, the rabies dealer
Dealin that n***a maybe killin that n***a that smooth way
That mothafuckas ain't shit to me
White n***a, black trigga cracks every mothafuckas back
Way in the day, fools used to get they squabs on
The Blood gang, Deuce-Nine, Creek Mobb zone
Runnin a mothafucka like a pit bull, loadin up that clip tool
But stealin on muthafuckas like a clepto
Let no, other muthafuckas raid the hood
Half the mothafuckas smokin n***as like wood
Got locked up with they cock up, some other n***as asshole
But at least my n***as had enough heart to blast though
Now the deuce ain't deep like 86
I'm solo, might as well pin me on a crucifix
The deuce-fo' age, baby killin athiest
For the funk right back, cause (You know I had to gat ya)
Chorus

[BLH]
Same ol fool, that n***a deep load, what up
Ain't no doubt who runs the muthafucka
Cause every cut I drop is like a muthafuckin main course
Hella n***as eat that's why I make so many corpse
Cause when they hear that n***a that n***a that siccness drop
My nine millimeter goes Pop!
My sign going to creep them
Nightmare creeper millimeter meter
Lock up, main corpse, spirit your brain
Got n***as killin n***as, just because I'm rappin insane
Something like a Manson mind, my n***a Triple Sicx
(i got em doing a devil dance of mine)
Leavin em only one chance to die and n***as wanna used a Glock
N***as wanna go to heaven but don't want to get shot down
Yeah, with my .38 snub nose
I got n***as crawlin to me tryin to pack me for the hella holes
Lettin loose like Antonio Montana
With a Uzi and I'm kickin em with a 12 gauge Moss'
And I'm off, psycho like I'm Michael Myers part six
Brotha Lynch, rippin his arms off up the crucifix
And when I grab my 9 millimeter gun, puttin' it to your back
'Cause I don't know how to act so (You know I had 2 Gat Ya)
Chorus 2X

(You Know I had 2 Gat Ya)