DJ Aladdin - Ice M.F. T lyrics

Artist: Ice-T Album: Home Invasion Song: Ice M.F. T Yeah! 1993, I'm back motherf**er, this is Ice T Got my n***a Ice Cube in the motherf**in house Yeah! Up here in the ammo dump studios I got my n***a Aladdin, SLJ's in the motherf**in place Behind the mixin boards We about to do dis sh** like this here! Verse 1: It's goin down tonight in L.A Buckshot and uzis spray Microphone blowa The b**h checka The ho wrecka Ice motherf**in T n***a step to me But grab ya hoes quick Cause the Syndicate's throwin that crazy dick Punk motherf**ers run up You'll get done up We'll have your a** gunned up Before sun-up So what's the color I'm raggin? Been a millionare for years Still saggin Left pocket's stuffed with a huge a** brick .380 in my right so it sags a little bit More than the rest of my gear When I'm on tour I empty clips Bust lips And break jaws Cause I love to loc up So punk motherf**er don't choke up When you're talkin to me Chorus: Ice, Ice motherf**in T (x4) Verse 2: Bush, Quayle and Clinton got a problem with me: The motheruckin T I give less than a f** about any of them Or their f**in police friends They'd like to take me out Make me a goner They even tryin to sweat Time Warner Why? For tellin the truth to the youth That a lot of motherf**ers are hot And want police shot? You can't stop the shock (?) The fires are out But the coals are still hot I got juice to bring pain You tryin to f** with the Ice Are you insane? This sh** is bigger than me Be warned It's the lull before the storm And every f**in thing I write Is gonna be an*lyzed by somebody white Chorus Verse 3: Run motherf**er, hide motherf**er, trip motherf**er, die motherf**er You don't give love And you won't get loved You don't push And you won't get shoved No joke I ain't here to laugh I ain't here to cry But every night of the week One of my homies die Eeny meeny mynie moe Blood's pourin out the naps of your afro It could be you Could be you Could be you Could be your whole damn crew It happens real quick Screechin tires Next thing you're hit Your body's cold Your body's hot You feel your chest You gasp for breath You're shot And now your homies is trippin' Lookin for a gat to put they clip in Street crime- That's the thing I bring, Ice T I rap easy, I sing They call it controversy I call it truth with no mercy The beats are phat Ammo Dump tracks The kind that make speakers crack Not made for squares Or the weak punks That made the bump trunks Press- Get the f** out my f**in face I ain't got no more time to waste A ho is a ho, a b**h is a b**h, a n***a is a n***a And that's it I'm through explainin the sh** You just makin me backtrack The next duck reporter might get hit with a blackjack Plus Every one of my true fans Totally understands A n***a like me Chorus (x2)