Ill Will Fulton - Raise Hell lyrics

Yeah! Yeah! Go n***a, raise hell! Yeah! Yeah! Raise hell! Yeah! Yeah! Go n***a, raise hell! [Verse One: Lil' Fame] The new single, kid get your sh** mixed Catch this new slug from the M.O.P. hitlist It's thorough for the cars, for the clubs, for the Jeeps (For the fellas on the corner posted up 20 deep) Hold it down! Home Team back out to sail this Make 'em collapse with caps and Fame make 'em famous The "Downtown SWinger" gun slingers rock wild And when I die, I won't be puttin out flames in hell Cop a 10 milli from the corner store Arab Fools with truck j**els get stuck for they karats Hold on you hear somebody comin, you hear somebody gunnin Them n***as that you run with is runnin Cause it's (BULLETS OVER BROWNSVILLE!) I'm from the place where trey-pounds and fo-pounds k** Fool how that sound? (ILL!) The star vendor, bend 'em like car fenders Serve 'em like bartenders, what's next on the agenda? Dope rap, we drop off crack, they can't stand it When I'm {?} when only we be gettin 'em open like the 'Ville With this fresh rush, show me on point in this game Cause Fame plays well, and I raise well, so I raise hell! [Hook] Yeah, go n***a, raise hell! Yo, yeah, raise hell! Go n***a, raise hell! [Verse Two: Billy Danze] Raise hell, it's another d**h wish, I guess it's time To grip nines, to rip behind enemy lines Where it's ruthless, and get the troopers That think it's somethin sweet M.O.P. n***as was raised in the street, kid Ain't nuttin changed cause I'm rappin, I am a Ill n***a and I still will bust my hammer (Is he a gangsta?) Blaze F-A-G's I don't stress 'em When I, catch 'em I stretch 'em I bless 'em And let his momma dress 'em The name's Bill, the game's real, me and Fame feel We can blow trial, and yo I'm ill So blaow in your face! (Bla-bla-bla-blaow) to the d**h (Buka-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-KLAK) 'til there's nothin left I ain't gon' be playin no games witchu frauds Whenever the two guns bustin just don't be trustin this Drama Lord (Take it to 'em son!) Yeah we got a plan, and Billy Danze packin more steel than Bugsy Moran{?} To the terrible organization, it's the M.O.P.'s last generation Who wanna confrontation? It's hammer time and I'm layin on you to see me (Is he a tough guy?) Nah that's how they make him look on TV Fake jerks I rattle, snake chumps I saddle And ride they a** all the way to the bus without no truss The Hill-top, will-rock, non-stop Squeeze-Glocks, at the motherf**ers son He can't run, so I ain't gotta chase him (Do you think you can take him?) Take him then I back him down and lace him, raise hell! [Hook] Raise hell! Hell, hell, go n***a raise hell! Raise hell! Go n***a raise hell!