THA BACKYARD E

This is B-Rad, sequel. For all you wannabe but can't be B-Rads. Don't even contemplate or fuck with Bobby's style. 'Cause dope for your ass, nigga. B-Rad on my mind, my sister full of crumbs. Chicks on the left and they wriggling my scrum. Wild, wild west where the niggas love to ride. We dumb, V-O, we go. To the hood with a new ice chain. If you're never hanging sadly, then the AK reach Your periphery. I'm making hoes jump like a sniper. This is type of shit I would have to Take a striker. Down, acting like a sucker from Nebula. Comma, savage killer because commas shooter. N-I-double G, another nine in the chamber. No hesitation, dealing with some gorilla niggas die. Nine millimeter shells fly. Killing niggas not the one, get on. Blown away by A to K. Forty-seven reasons we can serve like a spray. Hey, commas, I ain't got no stash. Nigga, nine never having no strap. You can't handle my automatic. With the bitches I was trying to ball hard, Son, this the backyard. Hey, hey, nigga. F-D-H in the young Clyde. Come on, motherfucker. I'm up on all of the hood. Backyard, bustas come to pay the rent. Got my guns like a third grade chick. I know a girl named Nina, black cooler. Got a seventeen kids, sad, fool. Pulling my hair like God. Chopping my spots like bullshit. I chop cut from a clean head. Fuck a bitch that naughty, naughty, A bootstrap, five grand, still drinking lottery. He the head of this shit. I came to hell like a black foot death Bitch. Bringing the realest strapped on motherfucker since A bitch, Yeah