[M-Child] [Chorus x4]
Grab the gauge, full of rage, 'cause the bullsh** you started,
Put your vest on, b**h, and watch; I'll aim for your head.
[M-Child]
Get your sh** together, n***a, before your body be dragged,
Leave you stanky like some panties in a fat b**h's a**.
I'm kicking with top-notch, moving over for my cla**,
Something in me forever burning like Jehova harra**.
Motherf**ers on my street, we be 'bout making scrilla',
M.P.D. hop on the scene, we be vamping, my n***a.
If you ain't from Orange Mound, acting like you a k**a',
Stick your chest out like you hard, yo, give up, they gonna miss ya.
n***as don't get the picture, I tell 'em time after time,
Can't stress that sh** enough, not even up in my rhyme.
So I stay cool; when a pack a n***as, co*k my nine,
Get stupid if you want 'em, so anxious, I hear you whine.
Protect your sh**; most of you n***as be faking,
b**h, I'll jump on you like grease and jump on you when you fry bacon.
Don't play no games, M-Child'll leave your sh** wet,
Like a p**y that's been f**ed, Georgia, you can't forget, yeah.
[Chorus x4]
[M-Child]
I be looking like a possum, I walk the streets at night time,
Taking back what be mine, put that sh** in my rhyme.
M-C-H-I-L-D, a Memphis, Tennessee figure,
I'm a ghetto-type n***a, f** one, pull back the trigger.
If a n***a talk sh**, and it ain't even worth it,
I'll stick a beer in your a** and won't think twice about it.
But if a n***a get me, this rapping sh** won't stop,
The lord'll have me up in heaven bumping out with Tupac.
Until the f**ing row blows, I'll treat you n***as like hoes,
The only thing that you can do with rhymes; startin' wear some panty-hose.
Pockets so swole, rocking shows, I know my roll,
Mad enough to knock your a** up side the head with a phone-pole.
And if it get krilla', gon' dynamite I toss,
I'm the motherf**ing boss your punk a**, settle for loss.
When I cross your path, you won't laugh, you'll be scared,
I'll crawl up in your head and talk some fusion, now you dead.
[Chorus x4]