If you don't back off, I'm k**ing myself. (x4)
[M-Child]
I think you pushed the wrong bu*ton, b**h
I self destruct, f** the world, n***a talkin' sh**
They call me the sh** starter of the f**ing clique
I represent O.M., Orange Mound, b**h
A bunch of hard-core motherf**ing lyricists
Provided bags, bandana rags, and shoot quick
And ride steamer, gettin' blown for the f** of it
I'm lovin' it, tell a hater straight, "s** my dick."
And giggle in your f**ing face, 'cause you lame, mane
And ride through your f**ing hood and do the same thing
I test nuts when I'm high off that green and gin
And got some gold bra** knuckles that'll bruise a chin
They call me the M-Child, psycho f**ing kid
I'm splittin' weaves tryin' to get a motherf**ing gig
The sh** I did or will do to a n***a
Really gon' leave 'em scared
Standin' in a puddle of piss runnin' down his leg
[M-Child] [Chorus x2]
(If you don't back off, I'm k**ing myself. [x4])
I ain't no b**h, I ain't no hoe
I ain't no b**h, I ain't no hoe
Player hater you gotta go
Player hater you gotta go
I'm all about makin scrilla' and cookin' that green dough
[M-Child]
I'm about stackin' grip
I go to church 'cause I'm holy
People ask me what the M. stands for, because they nosey
I keep a lot of sh** to myself, keep n***as thinking
What will he do next, when he high and when he drinking?
Don't f** around n***a, don't f** around with me
I snap, crackle, and pop, like f**ing Rice Crispies
You think it's a game, a motherf**ing talk show?
n***as laughin' like they ate a f**ing Tickle-Me-Elmo
Get that grin up off you face
Get up out your paper chase
Make a b**h bounce that a**
Make her buy you birthday cake
It's a new millenium, 2000, I'm on the rise
Better catch up, but not the kind you put on french fries
I can make a n***a hot, make 'em catch a bloody nose
When I hit the studio, rip tracks like panty hose
Bring pain, cause my game is like the finger fold
Lock down, twist 'em up, and refuse to let 'em go
[Chorus x2]
[M-Child]
You better hang on my nig', I'm gone, I'm in a zone
Microphone be on, better leave me alone
Straight hard-core sh**, I'm bringin' it to your home
And to your tape ca**ette, CDs, or headphones
Eliminations for sure, we be comin' in a pack
Ready to attack, open up your back with a Gat
Lock down, close shop, fill up every crack
I ain't givin' a n***a sh**, not even a Scooby Snack
Yo' hater you comin' back, why you tryin' to take mine
I'ma turn into McGruff and take a bite out of crime
f** 'em all, 'bout one phone call, it can be done
Take 'em out, 'cause of low self-esteem, you on the run
Never f**ing with your kind, 'cause your kind pullin' stunts
I'ma beat your a** like you ate my Captain Crunch
Drag 'em through the mud
Shoot your a** like a punk
You only came too deep
We bigger then Brady Bunch, n***a