[Verse 1: Brotha Lynch Hung]
And as I bail through the woods of the southside
Terror Zone, nine milli chrome, kill alone cause I trust no snitch
When I peel a dome and bail
Gone like hell right through the do
I'm rollin' a fat sack of red boogy boo, n***a ooh
Watch me bail, n***a but you don't see me though
Cause I'm rollin' fat sacks in the back of my vehicle
But takin' a puff of the dank stuff
And enough that double O-A-E dooz me
I'm slowly loadin' up the UZI
Well now who's he?
Well, it's that dead motherfucker doe
Well, whatcha know, comin' through with that murder mo
And I heard you know, now whose been bustin' up on the garden blocc
You either give up the information
N***a or get shot, so n***a now what!
I guess you wanna dose of this milla
Twenty-four shots from that momma's baby killa
N***a mack hustla, cap busta, in fact I'm just a MAC-10
Bustin' em at your chin before I crept n***a
Welcome to your own death

[Hook]
N***a welcome to your own death x6
(BUCK! For them who don't know bout loc to da brain
Them got them nine millimeter strap and true is the game) x2
[Verse 2: Brotha Lynch Hung]
Some n***as miss my sicc
Some n***as don't know me, n***as don't know my click
That O-loc-double-C-O-G rip gut cannibal type of shit
Plus many more caps bust
Anymore sacks to roll up, we need that high back
So n***as done load them nines and pull them hijacks
And lie back in the cut and roll another fat one up
Tack one up for loc to the brain
Them n***as that really don't give a fuck
Around and get buck-shotted up and dumped in a truck and left in a cut
So n***a now whatcha gon do with a mini MAC-10 ten at yo gut
Plus n***as nuts and guts is what I rips for
Creepin' up in a six four impala
Mobbin' a loots all up to make you vomit from the raw gut cause
Know what I do is let my nine do the talkin'
Leavin' you walkin' to your funeral, loc
Diggin'? yo smoke from the mack 1-0
I had ya pussin' just in case
I got me a MAC-11 for your face that's leavin' no trace
Caps leavin' a gate and puttin' holes in a n***as neck
So watch the reaper when I creep crept
Welcome to your own death

[Hook]
[Verse 3: Hystables]
When I hit the blocc with a nine
Them fools better be duckin'
My n***a duck got out the car and started buckin' at n***as runnin'
Untraceable gauge shells
Only worry is goin' to hell
And 5-0 they just can't swoop
See cause we mobbin' too well
My murder file done pile more than a n***a expected
See cause have of the city of Sac still ain't accepted
That I'm a pack and when I'm sweated I'mma put in work
Cause my OG told me YGs have got to kick up some dirt
And I'm tired of warnin' a motherfucker about a n***a like me
When it's hard to believe
The nine millimeter comin' out my pants gonna make you dance
See that's the city and it's making a motherfucker stress
Gotta watch your back like 24-7
Unless you wanna E livin' the rest of your life
Up in a cemetery die n***a die you'll repeat until you're buried
That nine millimeter givin' no motherfuckin' respect
Up on your back with your last breath
Welcome to your own death

[Hook]