Lyrics:

f/ 8-Off the Assassin



* send corrections to the typist



Intro: Cappadonna

This album right here

This is the Yin and the Yang

So you gonna hear a lot of different things on it

You gonna hear a lot of profanity

You might hear a lot of um...

A lot of love

A lot of hate

You know what I'm saying?

Cus it's like come on I got enemies

I got frienemies

And those that pretend to be's



HOMOCIDE HILLS!

That's the grits

THE GRITS!

The barracks baby word up

Verrazano bridge

yo yo



[Verse 1: Cappadonna]

I give a speech like Martin Luther King

Let freedom ring

Forget a bow ring

It's a black thing

Holding me locked up

With brothers be getting oxed up

Taking life for granted

Most of us abandon

How I know you not a cruel

Beef in the home

Africans

With jet black Americans

Dominicans war with the Puerto Ricans

Deep in the street

Thugs carrying heat

The rest of the projects surrounded with gates

Middle class families are moving upstate

While the younger generation selling cake

Trying to immitate mixtapes

It's all final

Big locks on the Verrazano

Get fined BB conduct

On some King Tut

Poverty struck

I seen the right to enter Uhaah took

My cup runneth over

Stressed out whenever I'm sober

This cold world got my girl scan

Fight on the sand

I'm allergic to ham

Weak minds all aboard

I see devils in the eyes of camcord'

And my reward is to let y'all know

I'm going out like PLO

Whenever I go uhh



THE GRITS!

THE GRITS!



[Verse 2: 8-Off]

I start the slaughtering

Make all eyes start watering

I know an 800 number you can get your coffin

Start ordering

The metamorphosis of my skill is sure to bring overcome any king

Faking ain't counterfeit

Money in the bing

I do a sting with two 9's under my sling

Anybody you bring

Still won't do a god damn thing

You nothing but a...

Onion in the rain

I floss rhymes

I loss rhymes

I got it like that

Y'all bitch niggas I toss times

I got rhymes that'll still rock you

Cats that'll spot you

Told you I chill

Lay off a shit

I still shot you

The only thing I'm unable to do

Is do what I got to

Look in hospital

Brooklyn apostle

Lyrical gospel

Still fortunate to scorch your shit

Paying for the cost of it

Your whole style remains wack

I know It's awful kid



THE GRITS!

THE GRITS!

THE GRITS!

THE GRITS!



[Verse 3: Cappadonna]

I play the back like back in the days

Give thanks and praise

Watch the frisk raise

Reunite

Take birth trees to upright

I forget a fake MC's

My songs the Bible

Survival in the man

The lost lands

No radio play

The Pillage is banned

Like a foreigner don't understand

Y'all some flan cats eat pig

Reneg real shit from digs

Hit you off with the packages

and facts on tracks

Y'all talk but that's put that back

We dealing in the orphanage

Way surpass your image

I'm a chemist

A dual dentist

Treat my heritage like friendship

I be exit

I rock a gold necklace

And restless

It's always hectic

Staten Island shit

Bad habit shit

Made me twist it

One twenty disctrict shit

Pillage be the senate

Throw darts like Masons

Garment Rennaissance

Patrionts

Hold the blood like tampons

Baby conduct

Put your fist up

No more struggles

100 dollars for the hen' dog

200 for the bubbles

Less troubles

Pill-Age

Plus some can turn rappers of off the stage

This beef will never we engage

Buck buck buck buck buck



THE GRITS!

THE GRITS!

THE GRITS!

THE GRITS!

THE GRITS!



[Outro/Intro to 'Super Model': Cappadonna]

If you fucked my little ho

Yo, let me know that then(Exactly)

Let me know cus I definately let niggas know

when I was banging they ho up

I was like yeah yeah

You thought she was in love with you and I tried to tell you that

She wasn't in love with you and I blazed her

Then I called you

The next day and let you know

And you gonna be like

'Yo, let me get my bracelet back'