Brotha Lynch Hung - Welcome 2 Your Own d**h lyrics

As I bail through the woods of the southside Terrors on nine milli chrome k** alone cause I trust no snitch When I peel a dome and bail Gone like hell right through the do I'm rollin' a fat sack of red boogy boo, n***a ooh Watch me bail n***a but you don't see me though Cause I'm rollin' fat sacks in the back of my vehicle But takin' a puff of the dank stuff and enough that double O-A-E dooz me I'm slowly loadin' up the oozy Well now who's he Well it's that dead motherf**er doe Well whatcha know comin' through with that murder mo And I heard you know now whose been bustin' up on the garden block You either give up the information, n***a I get shots, so n***a nah WHAT! I guess you wanna dose of this milla Twenty-four shots from that mommas baby k**a n***a mack hustla, cap busta, infact I'm just a mack ten Bustin' em at your chin before I crept n***a Welcome to your own d**h [Chorus x6] n***a welcome to your own d**h (BUCK! For them who don't know bout loc to da brain Them got them nine millimeter strap and true is the game) [x2] So n***as miss my sicc Some n***as don't know me, n***as don't know my click That O-loc-double-C-O-G rip gut canibal type of sh** Plus many more caps bust Anymore sacks to roll up, we need that high back So n***as done load them nins and pull them high jacks And lie back in the cut and roll another fat one up Tack one up for loc to the brain Them n***as that really don't give a f** Around and get buck, shot it up and dump in a truck and left in a cut So n***a now whatcha gon do with a mini mack ten ten at yo gut Plus n***as nuts and guts is what I rips for Creepin' up in a six four impala Mobbin' a loots all up to make you vomit from the raw gut cause Nah what I do is let my nine do the talkin' Leavin' you walkin' to your funeral low Diggin'? yo smoke from the mack 1-0 I had ya pussin' just in case I got me a mack eleven for your face that's leavin' no trace Caps leavin' a gate and puttin' holes in a n***as neck So watch the reeper when I creep crept Welcome to your own d**h [Chorus x6] When I hit the block with a nine Them fools better be duckin' My n***a duck got out the car and started buckin' at n***as runnin' untraceable gage shells Only worriers goin' to hell And 5-0 they just can't swoop See cause we mobbin' too well My murder file done pile more than a n***a expected See cause have of the city of Sac still ain't accepted That I'm a pack and when I'm sweated I'ma put in work Cause my O-T told me why Jesus got to kick up some dirt And I'm tired of warnin' a motherf**er about a n***a like me When it's hard to believe the nine millimeter comin' out my pants gonna make you dance See that's the city and it's making a motherf**er stress Gotta watch your back like 24-7 unless you wanna be livin' the rest of your life Up in a cemetery die n***a die you'll repeat until you're buried That nine millimeter givin' no motherf**in' respect Up on your back with your last breathe Welcome to your own d**h [Chorus x6]