Busta Rhymes - 10 Gun Commandment lyrics

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
It's the 10 gun commandments, what yeah
My gun toting niggas
Big ratchet handle (yeah)
My illegal gun smugglers (yeah)
See, it don't take much to
Learn a nigga something burn a nigga fast
You fix a nigga behavior real quick
Flickmode bitch

Yeah, I've been in this game for years
I had a whole lot of fun
Because of some of you pussies now
I collect a lot of guns
My crib like Discovery channel
All solar planet once I palm the ratchet
You and your peeps can catch it
Hombre uno, every time you leave your home
Pack a couple gats and go, yeah you know
You better believe especially me
Would already be in my waistline
Tucked never giving a fuck
Number 2, in the nighttime hitting the move
Don't you know it's best busting
Off when silencers are silencers
His whole block
Have niggas shitting their self as soon
As they hearing the gun cock
Number 3, best believe I keep the shotty
In the line I'm on the trench
I don't bleed on no park bench
Now your mom, fuck the fingerprints
Keep the buckets with the acid
The Glocks they shoot is plastic
Number 4, gun niggas heard this before
Better clean that man before
Your Glock jammed number 5
Never bust your gun where you sleep son
Unless you fighting to live
Or protecting your crib
Number 6, you beat your ankle
Give him a sample
Let the MAC rip him in half, make an example
7, if your team pussy don't call 'em
Or on News 11 to be reporting
The death of 2 dumb niggas, died so sudden
While one nigga really deserved it
The other died for nothing
And number 8, don't ever move stupid in broad
Make sure you got you a bitch to
Bring your gat in the club
Number 9, when you bag your gun real quick
Before a nigga fronting
She in the bathroom with your shit
'Cause once they see you harmless
'cause they know you're armless
I could promise your spirit a lift
Like it's caught in a harness
Number 10, you make sure you got a long clip
You miss a couple times
It could still shoot a nigga shit
If you ain't got no ammunition
Better lay low
'Fore you get clapped while our
Audience watch you die slow
Follow these rules, keep the ratchet
Fuck the knife
Move accurate, plot the rules
Add years to your life
Shots burning, it cook the skin, trust me
But leaving him popped first before
A nigga bust me
Put bullets where your blunt be
Blood leaking out your ass like
Bitches on their monthly
It's fucked up the way a
Son's mother probably cuss me
Gotta bounce, gotta run
Then go load my guns B ugly