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| Path: O / Onyx / Face Down | |
Face Down- Onyx -[intro] Yo fuck that word up man! (word to mother yo) Who you runnin wit? (afficial nast!) Fuck that, who you runnin wit? (afficial nast!) [fredro starr] Yo Im goin straight for your head to leave you headless Eyes of redness, I spray rap cats, to burn the lead tips Point blank range, I take aim, blow your brain out the frame Eight shotsll touch ya, spit ya physical structure Motherfucker this is lyrical destruction Path of disaster face nast, comin at cha full blast And capture grabs your last, breath like the asthma Couldnt care less, you approachin near death My hollow tips, rip into your vest politic, with the fearless The devil himself, a rebel in himself Trapped in america, assassinate your character, slaughter ya Twenty more holes, in your nautica, fuck all of ya! What? ! bringin mcs, yeah, callin ya Livin like a nigga with six months to live On the edge of life, wouldnt think twice, to make a sacrifice Do a heist, ya niggaz aint true to life, my whole crew is trife! So bring your wildest nigga reppin for your team Tear his ass to his spleen, this is suicide queens Where gats bust, cutthroat, cross collateral Gatll shatter you, feel the pain, its unimaginable Self shit, straight from the hood, the dirty black shit Rap shit, get your back ripped, plus the gat spit Load it and cock it bag, on thirty-two tracks Murder you in raps, let my wild dogs bust the cats! Styles leave the best dead, I stay breast-fed And when I die, be handcuffed, to my deathbed {*scratched face down on the pavement -> ll cool j*} [sticky fingaz] Sticky fingaz sneak up, when you least expect it I never fuck pussy thats yeast infected Fuck a brain fry, make me think irrational If I even think you schemin, you know Im blastin you Im too raw; what is you - out you gourd? I cut through any challenger, top notch or amateur Youd rather be in the projects butt-ass with a hundred gs cash And no gun, than to fuck with sticky, fredro n son You lookin at one desperate nigga, you shouldnt mess with I had a doctor scared to remove a bullet from yo intestine member when I tested, this nigga manhood To see if he was a true nigga, so I pulled out my gun Gave some dramatic ass speech then, pulled the trigger {*click*} ha hah! barrel empty, joke on you jack He cold pissed his pants, blew his cover, he a new jack You know where Im comin from, most my niggaz pump n jump And when its time to dump and run, I never jump the gun Or get cold feet, I hold heat Ya niggaz dont know me; in six hours I made up four years Got high shit for your ears; Sorry somethin that I never felt yo, fingertips made of velcro You talkin shit like its a little game Thats now how we get down - beef is my middle name So dont die over nonsense, I aint got no conscience Come out your face you gettin shot Everything Im spittin hot - I need fame without the bread Like I need a hole in the head Add insult to injury, you cant fuck with me Guess thats not your cup of tea - Im every star I meet If you are what you eat, fuck the rookies, rejects Plainclothes and detects I had a hard life, grew up too quick But kept it tight with my true click, startin a new flip Fuck you frontin for? I seen your bag With your tail between your leg Afficial nast in the house that mean you dead! {*scratched face down on the pavement -> ll cool j*} [sonsee] You takin a ride, in the ambulance, you catch mad damages Cock the hammer shit, leave you los(t) like angeles You aint brick, or stucco, or paper machete Whatever you got, get taken away, youre bakin today Trust that, its time to crush cats, when I bust raps I rush tracks, and oft act, buckwild! Army comin through here nigga, truck style! Fuck you! fuck the judge! fuck trial! Im givin niggaz shattered egos, I keep foes Or a pet bet they small threat, make em eat those! Deep goes my depth, sleep hoes get wet If that aint enough, we come through and hose your shit Hit you with the fireworks, you see the stars bangin I really bang you, and prepare you for gods angels Its not on humble, but some shit you cant come through Nigga try to blow he gotta go, and now you know Experience, from the furious, eeriest Dead serious, hysterias, fillin ya, interior With nervousness, for your services We cuttin off your circulation and deaden ya purposes! We them niggaz you cant fuck with, rain or shine All mics I slain yo kind, changed the mind Of those thinkin of playin theyrself, next Is etched, in stone, you motherfuckers gettin blown! {*scratched face down on the pavement -> ll cool j*} |
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