We Run Sh** Album Version (Explicit) E

Yo, I bit Mike. See, I got a problem With cats, but ain't a damn thing living I Can't solve with a gat. I blaze a digi That'll cause an attack. I'm never far from a Scrap. My felonies are just assaults with a rap. You rap bitches, you snake baits. I blaze tapes, make you kick your own asshole Until your legs break. Leave regrets, spots on your neck and your chest Plate. In LA, hoes, that's where the blue and The reds play, ayy. My eyes can define who's lying. Put a gat to your face, if I smile, You dying. It's that simple. This for you trifling hoes. It's Bad Boy repping that house and home, you Bitches. Man, who fell off, bitch, when y'all the Dick riders? It's heat to the dome and it's Four, so it's eight lighters. We spit fire, homie, act or bark, but say The wrong thing and your mic gets sparked, so Don't talk. fell off, bitch, when y'all the dick Riders? It's heat to the dome and it's four, So it's eight lighters. We spit fire, About face and walk. We run shit from LA to New York, bitch. Let's get this shit straight, homies. Ain't no braids in Africa. The true Aztecas and the Mexicas'll laugh at ya. Just keep it real and don't forget who judgin'. You independent labels, check them artists, you Fuckin' get it? I been around the world wavin' The flag. Still got a hundred thousand motherfuckers Wavin' their hands. Chasin' the van, my Japsikins is Raised in Japan. The Godfather, little faggot, Man, you facin' the man. I'm Cross Angeles, I hit first, I rip worse. The tune of a killer with the power of Chip Hers. A sick verse, I spit flames when I hit herbs. The Pride, motherfucker, that's the way That this shit works. Man, fell off, bitch, When y'all the dick riders? It's heat to the dome and it's four, so It's eight lighters. We spit fire, homie, Act or bark, but say the wrong thing and Your mic gets sparked, so don't talk. Man, who fell off, bitch, when y'all the dick Riders? It's heat to the dome and it's four, So it's eight lighters. We spit fire, About face and walk. We run shit from LA to New York. Uh, shit, uh, okay. I'm ready to pop off at the jaw. You motherfuckers is killing me 'cause your rhymes Is soft, doggy. My dick get harder than y'all And your crew. Y'all follow the same recipe we Invented in the '90s, dude. The royalties and the cheese we still collect from You. Living off of the hits you created, man, That's funny too. You wack rappers is corny with No cred. Man, I rock y'all bitches like Armadale And Pro Kids. I'm fed up, looking out for The feds, and I'll never go hungry 'cause I Stay with the feds, you feel me? Y'all stay starving like Marvin with no Reups. Damn, dog, it's five dollars, take your ass to Little Caesars, ugh.