On your carpet I am going to leave a red stain
And you'll be dead, Lain
Feeling head pain
So call one eight hundred two two two tips
And tell him that I run with the bloods and the crips
I crush faces whenever I sense any beef whoever disgraces are goes against me
Now you might think that I'll be bragging bout the honey's I'm tagging but my pants be sagging and my balls be dragging
I'm forever getting high
Caress your woman's thigh the ry-guy makes killing easy as pie
As the time flies objectively by
We asked selectively why
We be left here to cry and die
Just look into my eye
I'm out for a piece of the pie
And to snipe haters where they lie...