Trylogy E

Brainstorm the back of the bank, bustin' loose like Muggs, typhoons, corrupt cowhooves with a pursuer, The backwards dance for fools, ready to shoot Anything that moves, loaded tools from the blues. Let's go, mask on, khakis on, skull house boots On. I'ma start it off skitzing on the first Nigga's car, hear the stat, heard me? Hear me? Heard that. Word's gone past the front door. Before you gotta show 'em your heart and soul, When Desert Eagle pros explode, then watch it fold, The other niggas froze. You knew better, mask and an all blue sweater, Two pumps ready for a riot, full Greta. Six hostages with a loss of oxygen, Wet as a river, sixteen bricks to flip. After I flip these bitch niggas for they shit, I've been down with the twist since eighty-six. Hyperactive with automatics, snap and reaction, I'm sick of waitin', a thirty-eight, I'm jackin' for Datin'. Kick the door in for sure, double force Ram it, hollow bane, get ready to knock 'em Off where they standin'. Position the cam, telegraph The whole parameter, paralyze anything that walks Through the parameter. Soldier who bangs lacerated, Launch the missile, interrogated, inoperatived, Posted with pistols. Time for war, this when the Hearts expose, take out the game, cock and the Sparks explode. I'm a marksman, touchin' death ten Steps and drawin', that's all into anything before. In a world war, off like a Concorde jet, A fool, see P. G., jet set. In a world war, this is when the hearts Expose, take the game, cock, sparks explode. Made for press and panic, and then start skitzin', Not givin' a fuck while all y'all bitches. This for all my G's, my homies, Flippin' birds and servin' keys. I'm with King T in the mix, alcohol'd up Like, "Bitch, get the fuck off my dick!" I got pistols, pills, acid, bud, Crank, crystallized coke and limes, I don't give a Fuck