Heltah Skeltah, Smif-N-Wessun - W.M.D. lyrics

Yo, two-two-two, five thirty-two
Thirty-eight four-four-four, five
Increase the murder rate
Great, shit can vertebrae
Fuck up your backbone
Snatch ya backpack, nigga
Fuck up your wack poems you can't rap
Slap his natch with the black chrome
This whipping was a warning
So take your ass back home
Nigga, see I pop shit with the same
Kinda guns that TI got knocked with
Extra clip carrier, quick to click burry ya
Both talk tough, but bitch, I'mma bit scarier
Uh, Rambo guns, Commando guns
Catch you at the beach, will
Heat up your sandals, son
Fuck with a vet
Best believe you fuck with the best
Put a slug in the revolver
That'll fuck up your flesh


Put a slug in the revolver
And play Russian Roulette
Fuck it, I try, I do it, fuck if you die
Ruck, is the, luckiest fucker alive
I went from nothing to something
A couple of times

I got a gun with a nozzle pump, cock back
We dump
Lift ya, who said white men can't jump
I know, dead men talk cuz niggas get caught
But, if ya
Body a juror then a killa gon' talk
Do ya biddy bop to the block
Goodbye to your tail
Shitty city cops, 50 shots, I am Sean Bell
Semi auto four
Leave your head looking real gory
Be a ghost before Halloween
That's true story that I blink like a
Transporter moving your order
Quarterback spiral like bullets
Hit your autora we ain't here to warn 'em
Bring the water trigger, we squeezin'
Twenty minute shootouts
Clip empty we leaving
When I jump in the porsche
Hop in the charger fans can't catch the boy
I'm an artful dodger you know who in charge
Get your whole team washed
Then go in and buy guns with
The money from these bars

Yeah, the flow rapper, forties and automatic
Arm tatted, chron' addict
It's on when the God rapping
The dog grabbing, my paws
Palming the double action
Pump blasting, punk bastards, slump backwards
Rap mastered, got cash? They all plastic
Since graphics, all of my cons, all savage
Lord of War, Nicholas Cage, sick cannons
Spit talents, til we the last Clik standing
Timbs branded, scuffed up from kicking asses
Bucktown, we shoot first, then ask questions
This is my gun, this is my weapon
This is for fun
This is for sending niggas to heaven
Sing 'em a sermon
I heard somebody needed a reverend
Heard he was telling, the bird
He sent a word to my brethren
Parabellum to the back of your melon
You want the rest? See the news at eleven

It go nine millimeter, mack 10, mack 11
Twelve gauge
Have your monkey maggot ass on channel seven
Telling like, they shooting
That just how we making you Duck Down
This go round, what up now? He said, what
Now?
You the old mattress bout to get drugged out
Like me, I'm so addictive
I'm the newest drug out
With guns out, ignorant birds, we dumb foul
Run out of shells and you
Ingrown hairs get plucked out
Get smacked with a cap, I'm Kung Lao
Rock a pocket rocket
Put a drop top on Run's house
I ain't talking bout horizons when
I say 'sun down'
Son, down! down for the count
It was just for one round
Give me two of those gats that Bruno had
On Pluto now, and only on them who hold gat
Ain't that false advertisement? I
Should sue those fags
I'm just playing, you know that!
Fuck around these days
These dirty DA's'll do your raps
Not guilty, but I do know gats
Think about it like
Seriously is it true or all raps
When I say I put a hole the
Size of my boot in your back