Lyrics:

Krayzie:
Shoot, shoot, shoot em up. Shoot em up. Shoot em up.
Twelve gauges bust up in ya. Playa haters, we be quick to pin ya.
You know we know you dont wanna roll,
cause when we give it to ya, were gonna bring it to ya. Oh, yeah.

Layzie:
Right off the jump, ooh, now I gotsta let you know when you see me runnin, rollin with them big shotguns, and we deep when
we creep, never sleepin and we droppin them whammies on fools, who wanna get dumb and numb. Now, that you know like
that. These niggas come around; they dont know how to act. In fact, Im at the track in the back with a couple of my cats in
the hood, smokin weed and up to no good, Red Dog in the trunk, and we rollin that. Bang or slang. Now bail on over to
your thugs, so me and the rest of these thugs can marinade, marinade. We straight. Get high, so high, thats how my mental,
thats how my mental state is like. Parlay, parlay, like everyday. Dont think I dont pin playa hation ya, but ya better pinnin
yourself, or contend with the M-11, .357 automatic weapons from my shelf. The niggas wanna take my health and wealth,
check yourself, tryin to contend, but they couldnt win. You took it to the head with a fifth of Hen, now we in a
red Five-hundred Benz, oh, we roll, roll. Drop the top, and lock the locks, cock the glock, bout to hit this corner, livin like a
thug on the real. Whos stronger when I put it on ya, on ya? All playa haters goners.

Krayzie:
Murder, mo murda, mo murda, mo murda them all. They fall. They fall. Buck. Buck. Oh, yeah. Niggas--they get it then
pissed off, and a, and a to fuck with the wrong muthafuckas. They fall (quick) when we buck, bitch, ooh, we got somethin to
put you back into your trunk quick. Hey, that fo-fo magnum, gon handle em, aint no nigga badder, .357 put that ass on the
mat, execution, Ill be shootin while you runnin off at your mouth. You plot me, cause you watch me, watch me, watch me.
My nigga, we know what youre thinkin bout, but bitch, if you run up and try me, Im comin up outta my shit with some shit
that be keepin you runnin and wonderin what have I got to make sure they lit him up good. And you still find me. Where?
[You know we bullshit.] East 99, drugdealers and po-po--yeah, thats the Clair. Bone runnin back to Mo, and thats
Cleveland, Cleveland. You know we thuggin and theivin, theivin. If somebody got beef, we got millions done made. I rollin
thug records for ya, see my nigga, we com with nothin to lose. And bitch, if ya try me, (...?...) all those bloody bodies, tryin to
get outta the room. If I could just look up and see haters dyin [-yin -yin] and flip up my mind, and whenever you think Im
quiet, I get plots on the riot, riot--bang. Thats way ya get em, man: [get em, man; get em, man.] sneak up on em, and you
kill em, and they wont fuck with ya no more. You havin a party, and the weed goin up in your body. Smokers, chill. My
niggas, gotta get me sloppy. High, oh, so, so high.
Wish:
Come on, come on, dont be shy. Lets get high.
Krayzie:
We got the herb.
Wish:
If you want some, want some. We got weed indeed. You need some, need some? Aw, yeah. I know this just might sound
crazy, but lately gotta roll with my gun, cause the haters they hate me, wanna hurt that nigga, Bone. Niggas somehow,
someway get paid, and quit playa hatin. That buck to the bang, everything I got, I got cause we rhyme, thai rhyme. Had to
thug it out, but it came in time, just in time. And you give it to me, my thugs gon give it you, so either way we go about this
goes, somebodys head gon get blown. Bone gon on with your bad self, hey, hey, hey, blowin up your face with your
pistols and get with that buck to the bang, bang, bang. Nigga wanna roll with Bone, its on, cause nigga, we cool, we cool.
Dont forget: playa haters get that buck to the bang all up in that body. Got em, got em. We wont be slippin. We just
might be peepin you all the time. Im comin. Im gunnin, and I put that on the double nine.

Bizzy:
Shoot em up always, hate when I break you off and you loss and make it look to (?). Let there be coffins for all of your
offspring, now. Let there be coffins for all of your offspring for the police on the corner, creepin up, here comes them soldiers
pullin up, better watch one of them St. Clair niggas. Put it in a gutter, better (often) and doze ya. Really know ya shouldna let
me jumpin up out your shit, you runnin with a gang of bitches for you, ready when Im ready to do it you. It in my thang but a
buck, buck is small change, its off in ten to say that they niggas was bullshittin, and the Bizzy maintain. Nigga, this the
Northcoast homie. That city where the St. Clair niggas sell dope. I hear police. Roll deep in the set, see none of us scared,
and we show that its on, bitch. Bang. You feel the pitch of my trigger fingers a bitch. I done put it down with-a my click, and
stood on my own, and (kill flesh). And I rest on the nine, Ill be fuckin with yall, slangin my dogs, and em all niggas been (?)
Little Bizzy, but its all good, I still ball. And I know when ya roll, Im snatchin your souls with the Bone, we can show it, and
since Im a flow, and its all of yall realer, my niggas, I figured Id let em all know it. Playas takin up off the style; well, if you
think Im scared, you (dead wrong) did you think when I break you down.

Krayzie:
Shoot, shoot, shoot em up. Shoot em up. Shoot em up.
Twelve gauges bust up in ya. Playa haters, we be quick to pin ya.
You know we know you dont wanna roll,
cause when we give it to ya, were gonna bring it to ya. Oh, yeah