And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with a passion At times I feel like slashing in Jamaican queens fashion You think you can fuck around but kid you
Your legs turn noodles, you shot a few going down I give you that much, you ain't out Close, but no cigar, you must be a fucking retard Extending your
86 And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill em with a passion, At times I feel like slashing in jamaican queens fashion You think you can fuck around, but kid you
, there ain't no wins if you test mine You won't be coming back again like sinbad's sitcom I think they wanna battle You blew up like roseanne's belly
visits You will survive, them weak freaks think you finished You first time in, you known for poppin' your toast By your third year in you, forgotten
times +I Gave You Power+ God stop my heart if I'm lyin' SHUT THE FUCK UP and stop whinnin' Instinct controls how you think before decidin', so keep vibin
Intro) Y'all ready for this ARE YOU READY!!!!!! Ho, uh, uh (Chorus - 2x) Why they don't fuck with us Don't fuck with us, don't fuck with us Don't fuck
why do we call ourself 'Niggaz 4 Life'. 'Cause if we die we still gon' be some dead niggas. "You don't really think you're gonna get away, do you?" "
lyrically releasin, you don't stop Ain't nobody ceasin til your heartbeat stop beatin, bring it You know where to find me; actin like you lookin for me You
!) I look at my life in a new light -- fuck it Give me two mics; I write songs for me -- fuck what you like You're probably hear me rap half-hearted;
Your legs turn noodles, you shot a few going down I give you that much, you ain't out Close but no ci-gar, you must be a fucking retard Extending your
ain't fucking with you nigga [Nas] I'm saying though man... [AZ] What is it, what is it baby? [the Firm] What is it Son, what is it? [AZ] You know what
You will survive, them weak freaks think you finished You first time in you known for poppin your toast By your third year in you forgotten by most Niggaz
WAIT!) I look at my life in a new light -- fuck it Give me two mics; I write songs for me -- fuck what you like You're probably hear me rap half-hearted
and my ouija board spells certain death You contradict you can't do shit your fucking song's joke The only video you could make is if you robbed a liquor
limbs, there ain't no wins if you test mine You won't be coming back again like Sinbad's sitcom I think they wanna battle You blew up like Roseanne's