What's up, niggas? I told y'all that it's about to be on, nigga. We drop *** anytime we want to. Fearless, nigga! It's real. Trippin' the gang, niggas, they got their cane. Murder Mr. Dope Man, still in the rap game. It's 1997, my niggas goin' to heaven. Rest in peace to Papa Master P. Doin' 211s, 187, Gaddafi, murder. Put niggas in six-foot mother***in' girders if you *** with this true clique. Nigga, you gettin' your wig split. Who run this gangsta rap? No limits. It's about to be it. 187, Gaddafi, jumpin' on ghetto dope with these gangsta topics. Still makin' Skrilla, your neighborhood drug dealer, ice cream slingin'. Tattooed up real, nigga, in the rap game. Pushin' quarters, flippin' Toyota, from Texas to Florida. Choppin' game with the knuckleheads. And spittin' voodoo on a mother***in' chicken head. The outside hustlin' to the West Coast. Got niggas choppin' game, I mean this rap ***, into dope. Puttin' it in packages, independent spittin' ***. Standin' on stage with bulletproof vests, lookin' for other cliques. But who gon' be the next nigga to die in this rap game? Or drop a hit on the wrong man? Cause they talkin' *** about other niggas. Now it's a war zone in this rap game. But they can't stop us true niggas. They can't stop us true niggas. They can't stop us true niggas. They can't stop us true niggas. Cause if they kill one, there'd be a million other niggas. And I'm with ghetto dope, bustin' ghetto rhymes, y'all. Runnin' from the one time that mines posted up like soldiers. Downtown hustlin', drawin' boulders. Runnin' up block like a football player. Got them 17 rounds for y'all haters. So jump on this ghetto *** and come with this wicked ***. And jump into this rap game and watch us niggas spit. Killer murder topics. Put my goals up, y'all think y'all can stop this. Hardcore bangin', hangin', slangin'. Nigga down for whatever, that's why we bangin' on wax. Enter tracks. Got beat by the pounds like niggas slangin' sacks. In the hood, up to no good. Got niggas bouted from Baton Rouge to St. Louis. To Cincinnati. Got niggas timed up in Atlanta like addicts. Gotta have this gangsta ***. This real *** from this mother***in' true clip. Ain't givin' up, livin' wrong. And if we die, *** it. To the next gangsta nigga. Rest in peace, Eazy-E. But I'm out here makin' Skrilla. So *** your white laws. And your mother***in' police cars. Comin' through with gangstas and killers. Long live the mother***in' drug dealers. 97 to 2000 AD. Little kids wanna be me. Cause I'm bouted, I'm routed. The government and the press. Them mother***ers want me out. For runnin' my own ***. Niggas tellin' they come in like the slaves. So they sold in 36. Break bread. Don't you know 15% of what you make? You a sucker, a clucker. So stop rappin' hardcore. You here by mother***ers. And stay true to the gizangue. Be a bunch of paper. Nigga, *** the fizangue. Third world nigga runnin' the hill. It ain't no limit to this gangsta ***. Blood, smokes and keep it real. Stop us true niggas. Y'all can't. Stop us true niggas. Y'all can't. Stop us true niggas. Cause if y'all kill one it be a million more true niggas. Bitches be sick choppin'. And kickin' *** like karate. Fast like a Maserati. Crime bars like Janga. Look into they face. Niggas afraid of. Look deep into their eyes. They scared. Yeah y'all bustin' scared of. Cause I float like water. Cause I float like water. Run *** like Kajani Carter. Tell them I'ma be there. Watch more Tours Short. Than the French Quarters. Down for whatever. Bow down nigga never. Walk like a Beretta. Wet you up like bad weather. Got veins like the Cobra. Nah I got range like the Rover. You don't wanna *** with us will you. *** up like a hangover. From a city where busters lie. From a city where suckers die. Make way P and Silva. To the baddest mother***ers alive. Bitch it's showtime. Bitch I want the whole nine. Bust one line. And make niggas change they whole rhyme. Time to shock em. Yeah I got em. It's true mother***ers. And y'all can't stop it. And it's on.