First of all, I'd like to welcome home my nigga B .I .C.
Bringin' it constantly.
Marci, son, Stuart.
Second of all, I'm sayin' niggas what A .B. is, man.
Abandonation, man.
That's what I rap.
Anaphylaxis, nigga.
Bing monsters.
Nigga, grew up in prison.
Nigga, I'll put your fuckin' head off your soul, bitch.
You a rapper's rapper.
I'm a gangsta's gangster.
Catch you in the club dancin'.
Run up and shank.
Get it hype like I drank a couple of cups of Saint.
I'll be back, nigga.
I'll be sayin' some shit, son.
I'm a fuckin' tanker.
Spit the realest of rap.
How Miller's a clap.
Niggas in the hood still dealin' the crack.
And the crime is still black on black.
Word.
Niggas are still scared of the cracker.
Jack's knack for a fact.
And as far as me bein' a rap, if I don't get fed, I'm goin' at a nigga head.
Enough said.
And CJs, you better start playin' my shit.
Or when your ass get hit, don't blame it on 50 Cent.
I got the heat in this shit.
I ain't the dude you find tellin'.
What?
Nigga, I'm a motherfuckin' two -time felon.
Yeah, I spent too many weeks in prison.
For them to give me a job.
For me to earn enough to make a decent living.
My flow.
I rep what I live to the death.
My sweat.
Shed a little bit of it left.
My tears.
I ain't seen them in years.
But I scream AB to the day they spill all of my blood.
My flow.
I rep what I live to the death.
My sweat.
Shed a little bit of it left.
My tears.
I ain't seen them in years.
But I scream AB to the day they spill all of my blood.
If I hunt down this Lord, nigga, with the Glock 9, it won't be that bad.
It won't be like Pac -9.
They won't even mention his name on Hot 9.
MTV wouldn't give him no slot time.
Nah, I would just be wastin' my time.
If I do that level of crime, I might as well sell it with a rhyme.
I'll write a whole song on how it's bout to be on.
How I'm bout to pop a popular nigga and be gone.
I'll say his name with a hook so he can heed the warning.
The time will be like three in the morning when he performin'.
It won't be hard to get the black gauge backstage.
Nobody notice the strange face with the black shade.
And while you killin' the show, seein' all of him.
I'ma come out and pop you in front of all your fans.
Grab the mic out of a dead man's hands.
Tell the DJ keep spinnin'.
Matter of fact, play this jam.
My blood.
I rep what I lived to the death.
My sweat.
Yeah, that ain't little bit of it left.
My tears.
I ain't seen them in years.
But I scream AB to the day they spill all of my blood.
I rep what I lived to the death.
My sweat.
Yeah, that ain't little bit of it left.
My tears.
I ain't seen them in years.
But I scream AB to the day they spill all of my blood.
Yeah, nigga.
Let y 'all motherfuckers know, nigga.
My name's Saigon.
Now, I'm a real criminal, nigga.
I'll shoot any one of y 'all rap, nigga.
Faggot -ass motherfuckers.
I don't get shot, nigga.
I shoot niggas.
Fuck that, nigga.
Fuck niggas wanna do, man.
Niggas are straight bitches, man.
Word up, son.
We here forever, nigga.
Look, nigga.
How we rollin'?
Me in the moment.
Get your life cut short like Gary Coleman.
How we rollin'?
Me in the moment.
Get your life cut short like Gary Coleman.
How we rollin'?
Me in the moment.
Get your life cut short like Gary Coleman.
How we rollin'?
Get your life cut short like Gary Coleman.
Get it, get it.
Get it.
Get it.
That's gangsta.
Do two step to that shit.
Boom.
Pop it.
Pop it.
Pop in your head.
