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(feat. Styles P) [Talking] Mic Check 1, 2, 1, 2... you know? (Johnny Blanco) Chea!! Yeah, Yeah! (The Ghost) Whoo!! WL, Double R, 2O, you know? hahahaha Casper Producer Co., Holla!!! 108 Corona!! Yeah! Blanco!! Yo, Yo, Yo, Yo.. [Johnny Blanco] My waist lines an oven, who wanna get cooked? Pretty and Handsome, but I move like a crook the bars don't stop call me Mr. B-E-S-T ladies holla, fuck you whitey, and rub on they breast and I don't need Kay Slay, to start no drama I bring it to you, ya bitch, ya click, father, and momma I'm hungry, ribs are showing, pass the fork I'm eatin everything beef, chicken, pussy, and pork(sucka!) The milis is warm, prepare for a storm I'm putting numbers up, murdering shit, to getting my fuck on Songtexteto all my motherfuckin crackers holla back ladies suck on a dick and swallow back I'm always in lobbies Coke, X, and Weed pharmaceutical man, call the block, Dwayne Reed go hard or go home, no bull shit permitted fuckin with the kid get a clip in ya fitted [CHORUS] You don't want no heaters you don't really want no war better back up before we get ya you don't really want know war you don't really want know war you don't really want know war better back up before we hit ya with them thing that I tell ya, awww [Styles P] Fuck you, I don't care Ain't a nigga that I won't air What Up?...Yeah Fuck by in fear niggaz is getting jumped bullets in getting dumped niggaz is getting slumped What Up?..Its the D-Block boy the shotty tied to my leg, thats what I beat bop for and I massacre ya head and ya neck peal off in a teal colored Acura, and thats it like a hit man if ya hired, but I work for my self if I want niggaz dead then I murk them myself I squeeze and pop, let 'em drink from myself I'm a soldier even though I'm a boss and if you heard five niggaz dead, then you know I'm the source you ain't far, for a magazine have niggaz at the funeral like "like damn, they hit god with a magazine" when you fuck with P, its like gargling gasoline [CHORUS] [Johnny Blanco] 2O and Double R, shit's trouble pa fuck who you are, we run tracks like NASCAR's charac-tars y'all amateurs, with kalla bars, murder bars, who the fuck wanna change us? ya life a movie, you edit the hard shit dissolve the soft footage, you ain't hard, bitch ya flames is matches my kerosene catches and detaches, skin from bone and turns flesh to ashes and I don't give a fuck about no cake the shit flyin out my waist bout to spit in ya face a louisville sluggin ya, right in ya jugular to put a slug in ya, Johnny will have death huggin ya catch you in the studio writting a track and leave ya motherfuckin head sleepin right on your lap It's the cracker barrel boy with the holiday kid flying power out the holster, right by the rib [CHORUS] [Beat plays until fade] Aus Songtexte Mania