BROTHA LYNCH HUNG
"The Best Of Brotha Lynch Hung"
It's a must that i bust any strap you hand to me,it's heredity it runs in the family niggas in the town got pounds of beef, threatin a niggas life make it sound so sweet, i peel em back like corn on the cob,cap pillem,make em sound like a whore on the job, with a mac and a back pack full of that crack sack, gettin it off(bitch better have my mothafuckin money,bitch where my money)siccmade til i die shit nobody saw, so i was able to wipe the blood off the hallway walls aint got nothin to live for can't even trust a bitch might have to leave her alone, might have to dig a ditch, shits so rigoris, dealin wit haters,snitches,and bitches get they brains gone find a new home your whole life is gone cuz i'm on one,check the clock and if these walls could talk mothafuckas would be shocked,i'm bout to go fifty one fifty got nobody wit me stressed out like whitney,bobby brown,weed,and whiskey smokin newports no support but like too short i keep it goin,shootin up forts,who in this sport wanna fuck wit me come on the court,rippin out insides,putin stains on things,thats when i rip-n-ride now slip-n-slide through the gardens wit a bloody t-shirt,it won't hurt,put it this way,six feet deep in the dirt won't hurt,flirtin wit murder i leave em unheard of,and i'm sicker than period past drippin all over your hands get in the back seat or the trunk it's your choice dead or alive smothered or fried the way you better uncover your eyes i'm in diguise wit a nine tryin to take out your spine nobody no crime throw up that sicc sign and strike hard like stric nine,no recovery you other g niggas better duck,leave you in the tuc stuck,psycho,off the wall like micheal,always paranoid cuz i be blowin out that nitro,all day,everyday,murder spray got you in glad bags headed for the pad and you can ask my dad,i was a scavenger,14 years old eatin scabs,graduated with nigga meat but i don't wanna brag,fuck jeffery dahmer he a mothafuckin fag,i got nigga nuts and guts in a bag draggin em to the pad
Ziplock,body bag,toe tag,white t-shirt,black mag,corpse came to dinner(x8)
Nigga fuck under the influence i'm hella fucked up,swirvin down the freeway spillin my cup tryin to tell you bout this rapper on the underbelly,he aint shit,bout to be in the trunk smelly,by me and my relly you never know,whatever though,i got all them magazines and that weak intro,what you got against me,don't you know i rip niggas up turn em to mence meat,well if you got some sense beat it like raw eggs i used to have hella homies now they all hate but imma leave it alone i'm on my own like a vadoo nigga if a nigga wanted to get ate what would you do nigga i was too cool wit a,group of niggas and they tripped on me,gave em a little bit of fame,then they dipped on me,but you know it's all in the game,tell the crip homie to hit em wit a slug in the brain thats what you get from me,crash dummie,your careers diffected and you aint sold a record the last time i checked it,you just keep knockin,i feel disrespected,now your neck i disconnect it by the lynch hung neckelace,hey i leave em red and i dont eat head let the tech spit and chop niggas down to the ground like judge dredd come up into yall lookin just like the feds and you call yourself a rap vet,get out the bed and let me fuck like she should be fucked,all in the butt,wit the nine milli swallowin nut and you can see me in black clothes creepin from the back don't know how to act black blankets full of macs,i use em for nut sacks and full body bags better not let your daughter out,end up in the slaughter house,chokin and spitin,chest open and bleedin,and me fuckin her from the back me hopin you see it