Xzibit, M.O.P. - BK to LA lyrics

Yeah! AOWWW, AOWWW!
C'mon! yeah, yeahhh (yeah) yeahhh, yeahhh
MOP! Uhh (X to the Z)
Yeah baby, that's right
You know how we do it
One time, X, where you at my nigga?
FIYAHHHH!

I spread the hate
Like Taliban records and tapes
Shoot five times to the sky, gimme some space
I got y'all, runnin in place
Cut to the heart of the subject
(MASH OUT NIGGAZ) Straight from the
Gutter you love it ain't nothin above it
We stomp y'all religiously
Watchin paper thugs tryin to
Hide behind the industry
From here to infinity, love thy enemy
Niggas got the knowledge but
Don't know the chemistry
All inside your baseball hat and kneecaps
With baseball bats
('til fame hit you with the minimac)
Full body black fatigues
Lungs black from weed
In black limo tinted SUV's with Bill

STILL (still) WORLD (world) FAMOUS
The underdogs of rap, back to claim this
The fact remain we're
Heartless and painless
It's dangerous to strangers
That try to change us
Knowin we're anxious to flame 'em

You must wanna throw the towel in holmes
It's your man BD from NYC, the NYG (IT'S)
MOP, and X to the Z
Is a friend of our family (YEAH MY NIGGA)
For you, counterfeit
Wannabe hardcore players
I rub you under your
Face with single-edged razors
Cold street INTELLIGENCE, OG's and REBEL MEN
Grip quick
Cock squeeze and LEVEL MEN to SETTLE IT
(From LA to) BK, from BK to (LA)
Persistant and insistant on doin it our way
Do you really wanna fuck with Danze? (c'mon)
When he comin with them thugs in the van
Double clutch in his hands, my nigga

Make the world flame! Face
The Fame-ster, part, fame-ster
Y'all niggas akin to God and gangsters
(YOU SEE IT) It's the M dot, to the O dot
To the P
With X to the Z hot, what's happenin?

Hunt down, hurt, hang and hate the hater
Watch how you rise, fall and thank me later
Look in my eyes, I should not have to say it
Look alive, these streets is complicated

AOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! You got problems with
Us? Start poppin
I get in yo' chest like anthrax
Vaccine couldn't stop it
Let's move on 'em (aoww) must move on 'em
Rush in, gun-bustin
Black seven plus tools on 'em
Never snooze on 'em, I'm short
Haven't got room for 'em
I send you to God with no shoes
CLUELESS! Real G's run this, we rule this
If you wanna get into some gangsta shit
Let's do this
(YES SIR) No question, no half-steppin
Streets is my profession
Heat in my posession
Hollow-tips is the answer look around
You see the signs
Say "NO SMOKIN" but our guns got cancer!

Yeah cause I'm not
(I'm not) what you thought I was
Like my career was gon' fade
Like a fuckin buzz
Raise the stakes high, I solidify
The grip that I keep on shit
Get off my dick!

Random ad libs to fade