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Discussion in 'Goodbyes' started by KJM, Jul 20, 2018.

  1. KJM

    KJM Well-Known Member

    Joined:
    Feb 25, 2016
    Posts:
    1,009
    Roleplay name:
    Jeffy Gutenburg
  2. Finally

    Finally Well-Known Member

    Joined:
    Mar 21, 2014
    Posts:
    475
    irst off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claim
    Westside when we ride, come equipped with game
    You claim to be a player, but I fucked your wife
    We bust on Bad Boys, niggas fucked for life
    Plus Puffy trying to see me, weak hearts I rip
    Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-ass bitches
    We keep on coming while we running for your jewels
    Steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools
    You know the rules
    Lil' Caesar go ask your homie how I'll leave you
    Cut your young ass up, leave you in pieces, now be deceased
    Little Kim, don't fuck around with real G's
    Quick to snatch your ugly ass off the streets
    So fuck peace! I'll let them niggas know it's on for life
    Don't let the Westside ride the night haha
    Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
    Fuck with me and get your caps peeled
    You know
    See, grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac
    Call the cops when you see 2Pac, oh
    Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
    Now you about to feel the wrath of a menace
    Nigga, I hit 'em up
    Check this out, you motherfuckers know what time it is
    I don't know why I'm even on this track
    Y'all niggas ain't even on my level
    I'm going to let my little homies ride on you bitch-made ass Bad Boy bitches
    Take money
    Get out the way, yo, get out the way, yo
    Biggie Smalls just got dropped
    Little Moo' pass the MAC and let me hit him in his back
    Frank White needs to get spanked right for setting traps
    Little accident-murderer, and I ain't never heard of ya
    Poisonous gats attack when I'm serving ya
    Spank you, shank your whole style when I gank
    Guard your rank cause I'ma slam your ass in the paint
    Puffy weaker than the fuckin' block I'm running through, nigga
    And I'm smoking Junior M.A.F.I.A. in front of you, nigga
    With the ready-power
    Tucked in my Guess under my Eddie Bauer
    Your clout petty/sour, I push packages every hour
    I hit 'em up
    Grab your Glocks when you see 2Pac
    Call the cops when you see 2Pac, oh
    Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
    Now you about to feel the wrath of a menace
    Nigga, I hit 'em up
    Peep how we do it, keep it real as penitentiary steel
    This ain't no freestyle battle
    All you niggas getting killed with your mouths open
    Trying to come up off of me, you in the clouds hoping
    Smoking dope, it's like a sherm high
    Niggas think they learned to fly
    But they burn, motherfucker, you deserve to die
    Talking about you getting money, but it's funny to me
    All you niggas living bummy – why you fucking with me?
    I'm a self-made millionaire
    Thug livin', out of prison, pistols in the air haha
    Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on the couch
    And beg a bitch to let you sleep in the house?
    Now it's all about Versace, you copied my style
    Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled
    Now I'm back to set the record straight
    With my AK, I'm still the thug that you love to hate
    Motherfucker, I'll hit 'em up
    I'm from N-E-W Jers' where plenty of murders occurs
    No points or commas, we bring drama to all you herbs
    Now go check the scenario: Lil' Cease
    I'll bring you fake G's to your knees
    Copping pleas in de Janeiro
    Little Kim, is you coked up or doped up?
    Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up
    What the fuck, is you stupid?
    I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn
    With my click looting, shooting and polluting your block
    With a 15-shot cocked Glock to your knot
    Outlaw Mafia clique moving up another notch
    And your Pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
    And all your fake ass east coast props
    Brainstormed and locked
    Jui-cer
    You's a beat biter, a Pac style taker
    I'll tell you to your face you ain't shit but a faker
    Softer than Alize with a chaser
    About to get murdered for the paper
    E.D.I. Mean approach the scene of the caper
    Like a loc with Little Ceas' in a choke
    Gun totin' smoke. We ain't no motherfucking joke
    Thug Life, niggas better be known
    Be approaching in the wide open, gun smoking
    No need for hoping, it's a battle lost
    I got 'em crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off
    Nigga, I hit 'em up!
    Now you tell me who won
    I see them, they run haha
    They don't wanna see us
    Take money
    Whole Junior M.A.F.I.A. clique dressing up trying to be us
    Take money
    How the fuck they gonna be the mob when we always on our job? We millionaires
    Killing ain't fair, but somebody got to do it
    Oh yeah, Mobb Deep: you wanna fuck with us?
    You little young-ass motherfuckers
    Don't one of you niggas got sickle-cell or something?
    You're fucking with me, nigga
    You fuck around and catch a seizure or a heart attack
    You better back the fuck up
    Before you get smacked the fuck up
    This is how we do it on our side
    Any of you niggas from New York that want to bring it:
    Bring it!
    But we ain't singing, we bringing drama
    Fuck you and your motherfucking mama
    We gon' kill all you motherfuckers
    Now when I came out, I told you it was just about Biggie
    Then everybody had to open their mouth with a mother fucking opinion
    Well, this is how we gonna do this:
    Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie, fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherfucking crew!
    And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, then fuck you too!
    Chino XL: fuck you too!
    All you motherfuckers, fuck you too!
    (Take money, take money)
    All of y'all motherfuckers, fuck you; die slow, motherfucker
    My .44 make sure all y'all kids don't grow!
    You motherfuckers can't be us or see us
    We motherfuckin' Thug Life-riders, Westside til we die!
    Out here in California, nigga, we warned ya
    We'll bomb on you motherfucker! We do our job!
    You think you mob? Nigga, we the motherfuckin' mob
    Ain't nothing but killers and the real niggas
    All you motherfuckers feel us
    Our shit goes triple and 4-quadruple
    Take money
    You niggas laugh cause our staff got guns under they motherfuckin' belts
    You know how it is, when we drop records they felt
    You niggas can't feel it, we the realest
    Fuck 'em, we Bad Boy-killers
    We killers, we killers, we killers
     
    • Winner Winner x 2
    • Optimistic Optimistic x 1
  3. bob sing

    bob sing New Member

    Joined:
    Dec 18, 2015
    Posts:
    19