Mr. Porter - 6 Reasons lyrics

[Verse 1: Proof] They wish that they could bear me, black, D12 standing back No planning that, Def methods, we got a hand in that Whoever run this sh**, you get a jammed knee cap Make the healthy kids in your fam handicapped You a fan of rap? My clan attack your school, home, your b**h house Pull my nine milli: you gon' die with your fist out I'm here in this; it's over with. Venomous as cobra spit Drunken dialect; we're aggressive sober, b**h My bionic fires demolish your larynx Demonic as tainted chronic. Impossible to hold down like vomit Mics, I palm it. Your state, I'll bomb it Like terrorists that's Islamic. I enter your atmosphere like a comet The new god of rap: call me 'n***a Thor' Snap your back when I slap your a** in a figure-four From miles around they can feel it's lethal I make hardcore groups like Wu Tang look like the Village People No sequel. The general with the sinner style Abort your mind-state and k** your inner child [Verse 2: Bizarre] It's been a while since you b**h-n***as heard of me Cause the last six months I been doing R&B But now I'm on some sick sh**; n***as better duck quick You don't know who you're f**ing with; I'll leave you n***as breathless Seeing me and Bugz rolling in the blue hummer You a b**h: scared to shoot like Lindsay Hunter Don't need to be a father cause I'm just to illmatic I'll probably poison my kids like flowers in the alley f** your anorexic, neglects it, f** a Lexus I'm doing drive-bys on fusion BMXs [Verse 3: Bugz] I know a girl who said she's free, yo and her sign is a Leo Bugzy f**ed her in a Regal then she took me to my PO f** rolling ceelo; I'm down to a C-note Lost a G rolling dice in that punk-a** casino But f** it, cause when times get bad See me in drag, whipping macs on unsuspecting f*gs I gotta shoot. b**h, you got the boot And hurry up with it: I'm trying to catch this prostitute [Verse 4: Kuniva] I'm the n***a that spotted ya; spit something hot at ya Rip your Nautica; saw you backstage and shot at ya And k** subliminally. You can go on And spin your group name 25 times in one song I'll still write about you. Hip-hop is better off without you Blowing n***as outta they bathrobes and funky house shoes For the hell of it, I f** Missy Elliott Don't give a f** if her belly gets in my way: I'm still nailing it Got this verbal tech nine spitting at you for telling sh** Get this dead body off the mic: I'm tired of smelling it [Verse 5: Kon Artis] f** it: let's have a scrap-out. f** around with us and see what happen We all got them guns blapping; got y'all n***as back tracking Ya, we dump bodies in seashores Busting DJs over they backs with keyboards Turn up my levels. Your crew is fruitier than pebbles Changing you razorback emcees to running rebels Bust up. Kon Artis: quick to smack your s*ut up Keep a pack of rubbers just in case I gotta nut up Brigade-style hold 'em out down; that's how it's meant to be You kick the same sh**: your whole tape sound like a symphony Don't say sh** to me. It's DP conning your daughter Talking b**hes outta they panties, dollars and last quarters Like that horseman, I'll leave you wack clowns headless Rastafarians come to my show and leave dreadless Whoever said this slash-rapper-and-producer wouldn't make your head twist? Guard your grill and your necklace [Hook] [x4] I got six reasons why we keep sh** coming Dirty Dozen left n***as running for cover Hiding behind they lovers; skirting off, peeling rubber As we shout "don't f** with Dirty Dozen" [Outro: Proof & Bugz] Yeah yeah b**h (what what) We'll bring it to your crew We'll bring it to your crew Any of y'all Die b**h Don't f** with Dirty Dozen Dirty Dozen Bugz Proof Bizarre Don't f** with Dirty Dozen Da Brigade b**h DJ Head Don't f** with Dirty Dozen The saga starts right now If you ain't down with us from this day on Then f** you