B-legit:
Bitch I got beam like scotty
Leave you spotty
When I point this aim at your brain
And leave them hollow thangs in your body
Lodi-dodi I drinks bacardi
Gets dick hard drunk
When Im off that skunk punk
And you dont wanna dance tingo tango
I let my left right mingle mangle
To your jaw southpaw
It oughta be a law against these thangs I throw
About to lay some shit down with celly cel and bo
From the garden blocc
Hillside got they glock
Mack 10s
Mobb shitll neva end
Im tryin to have it all
So I ball till Im gold
Mobbin through a sixty usin cruise control
C-bo:
Im fuckin wit that click nigga
That big nigga on the block
With glocks, rag tops
Cut thangs on them gold knocks
Better watch your back cuz we strapped with teks
Push up in a blue lex
And dump caps to your neck
Mobb shit
Bustaz all die
Leather trench
Brim and two nines
Costume of a killa
At your bed side holdin on two millas
Uggh we bust them teks close range
Livin estranged
Called insane
cuz when its on its on site no matter night or day
And you cant fuck wit these
Get smothered with a half a key
Bitch

Celly cel:
Give me the ball and ima fill the lane like fenney
Hardaway cuz Im out to get every penny
Any nigga disrespectin when Im checkin for my scrilla
I knowm stilla wig splittin killa aint no realla
Nigga realla than me
Mobbin through your hood and takin heads
Slumpin hangin out the windows dumpin
And shakin feds
So mind your own
Cross the line and see how quick they gone
Head blown decapitated caught slippin in my zone

Fuckin with this mobb shit
Niggaz get they wig split

C-bo:
Uggh its the murder man posted at the front door
And when they comes I dumps with both four-fours
Letin em have it cuz Im static
Dumpin the grass
Killed his ass
And then kneel down and get my last laugh
Punk bitch shouldnt have tripped
Now he lay dead in the ditch
Ass ripped
Suckin on his own dick
Money talk
Bullshit walk
Fool this aint no sunshine
Three killas
One garden blocc, two hillside

B-legit:
This shits fucked and I am tag teamin with the murder man
And thatll hurt a man
Niggaz doin dirt and
All you got to do is hop your ass in my cut
Well be back tomorrow mornin
Cell, you comin or what?
I got this gut feelin
About to make the killin for a livin
The contract said the nigga wore a wire tap
And they want him dead
A hundred gs for his head
And leave a bloody glove down where that body bled

Celly cel:
Red rum is what Im hummin as I hit the fence
Homicide looked for prints but found no evidence
Stuffed his head in the duffel bag and zipped it up
Them ballas want to see his face before they break us off a cut
There it is cashed him like some chips at reno
Slid us a briefcase full of crispy ass c-notes
Made the hit
Got the scrilla
Gone without a trace
B behind the wheel
And bo loc cuffed to the briefcase
Yo nigga cell got the chopper case they on my trail
If its a tail then ima leave a 50 empty shells
Pistol smokin
These niggaz know we aint no jokin
Split up the tokens
And Im back in the hood loccin

Fuckin with this mobb shit
Niggaz get they wig split

B-legit:
Yeah, like a real hillside strangler, yola slanger, tryin to get a buck but if Im fucked in the gas chamber.
The autopsy red, them niggaz had some heat fo yo ass.
And never leave your block without your glock, clip and mask.
Haters hatin but its all game related and thats what we do bitch

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