Brotha Lynch Hung

I was rollin through the hood one day
Thought shit den calmed down,
"Gang-bangin" den played out by the years since I den been around
Aint talked to nobody from my block
Cause all my niggas is locked up
And its been all ever I seen wit a guillotine
So I was in the "Cut Supreme"
Fifteen grams and some "greenodine"
Aint seen a block nigga since
But now Im off that kill green
(Mothtafuckas aint got no love for me)
(Niggas wanna put some slugs in me)
So Im double 0 seven, murder redrum wit my three fifty seven
Brotha Lynch Hung, but the bitches call me Kevin
They try to make me think they close to me, but Nebin (never)
You know I gots to (say high) stay high, keep recipts for alibis
And the meat they ate from them drive-bys aint mine
cause mines a supe desguise
As I swoop the skies high off that buddha
tah mixed the cusche and the purple hairs
And it got me high
(Now Im rollin on the river)
Labeled Mr. FedEx
(Cause them bodies I deliver)
Got to get to my next plot
Unlock the freezer get the meat for the "rocks" (rotweilers)
And heat the heat cause its the "nine-nebin" (97)
and its hot den a mothafucka
(All day everyday) Imma stay loaded up, "krondike" in the trunk
And a pound full of James Brown
Cause I gots to get loaded so hold up soldier
[Chorus: x2]
The count goes
(One more pound of smoke and its guaranteed to make a mothafucka choke)
(Aint got no down ass bitch at my side
but I got some bomb ass weed in my ride)
Nothin but notches, booches
Fill my pockets, hit em up everyday, gotta have my pay
The gaungay got me high now Im paranoida den these booches
Filthy rich, Imma take the loot
And the dig a ditch, tell your neighborhood bitch
to miss me with that hoe shit
Cause Imma get this nigga when he surface
And thats on everything I love, I gots to split his wig
Opened up the little blue packet, stung him like a yellow-jacket
Rib cage heavily padded, hit him with the automatic shells
Send him to hell express from his mailing address
We got his name, for sho, then we went to the house and did that shit
I know I said I do it alone in the pass, everybody in the neighborhood knew
somebody betta jack his ass up like a six-four impala
You floatin on dirty water
Pack your shit up nigga like its on only you and your ?woda-goda?
Track your ass down, smoke your last pound
[Chorus x2]
(If you smell any smoke its just me and my homies gettin blown)
And I was late gettin home, intoxicated
Fight with my old lady
she was comin at unreal, hit the blunt and now shes animated
Motivate through you like a foggy mist
You can hold me in your chest-plate like that nitro hit
First Degree told me if the weed can toss
Itll talk some shit, gotta get me an underspot
make me a Hemp Museum like B-Legit
Im tryin to bump my head on the moon
Live so high up in the mountains eatin snake meat, fried raccoons
With a attitude I need food to eat up
smoke a fat blunt on my couch with my feet up
Top notch program, DOS mode indo 95 upgrade siccmade
Stay paid til the day on the ground, Imma lay, Imma stay loaded up
In my trunk I got the blow you up and itll blow you up
And the count goes
[Brotha Lynch Hung sends out shout outs til the end]
[ One Mo Pound Lyrics ]