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(feat. Frosty) [talking:] Uh-huh mo'fucker, it go down ha-ha-ha, ain't nothing funny bout it busy boy [Mr. 3-2:] Big Bossing flossing, putting niggaz in line Respect my mind, or respect the trusty glock nine Lay you down in a nasty bitch, made bastards Consider me a hazard, send fools to they casket Mashing, keeping my foot on a nigga's neck Slap em all Texas, keep mo'fuckers in check Right fuck you off, leave you for the tow truck Best raise up, cause you bound to get touched Clutch on triggers, and hit niggaz with lead Grieving over my homies, I put guys to bed Ahead on top, calling all the shots Rather free on the streets, with my eyes on the plot Burn not if you scared, you know you ain't hard Bitch made like a broad, hoe niggaz they get scarred I don't barred, for all that plex you talking bout Looking for protection, from the Boss of the South [Hook: x2] I'ma hurt me a nigga, merk me a nigga SongtexteLet his ass have it, and take all his figgas I don't play no games, with boys for the bread I start thinking bout killing you, busting your head [Mr. 3-2:] Get em up hit you up, with the pitchforks Put the flame to the torch, I hold my own court In the street with the heat, and burn you to the cross Put holes in your body, to straight fuck you off Big Boss, G-O-V tre deuce I'm winning pop off, it get ugly and gruesome Houston T-E-X, I ain't scared of no jacker Deep in the underworld, don't consider me a rapper Slap a nigga face, catch a case like what When I bust the mack, it's like busting a nut Pimp a slut, and get nothing but cash up out her Drop her, like a brand new top on a Eldorado I dot her for fool, come up at me wrong Cause I'll end his life, and talk about it on a song Microphones, another way I release some stress Besides fucking a bad bitch, or putting holes in your chest [Hook x2] [Frosty:] Hey mayn, you know it's me It's that killer, of the F-L-A-T Double L gangsta, say brah Late with my change, and I'ma have to bang ya Take no shorts, or no losses You fuck over Freeze, you'll be picking out your coffin Bullets they coming fast, and they coming often Who, wants to try me Pick a number, you might win the lottery To get your ass whooped, or your face stomped Ask the Flats, I go hard Head nigga in charge, H-N-I-C Everytime I touch the mic, I go hard And, I do not bar Small coming fast, I'll have you screaming oh Lord Stop him, get him away Mayday mayday, gunplay gunplay What, Black Sunday Sunday Going against me, is like a one way one way I live by the gun, and I die by the gun nigga [Hook x2] Aus Songtexte Mania