The Brand New Heavies - d**h Threat lyrics

Some think that I'm a flake, but I'm no fake n***a cause I Drink a b**h, make him a witch and burn his a** at the stake With the .44 mag it's so simple Put it to his temple, f** it, I give a n***a permanent dimples Easing up on the fast slow, but I let your a** know The block's too hot like Tabasco Brand New Heavies on the tracks, G Rap on the wax Cold bumping, got motherf**ers doing jumping jacks You motherf**ers lost it I bake your a** like a cake and all y'all flakes get frosted Cause when G Rap is on the mix n***as start sh**ting bricks and turning into chick with small dicks So a b**h, lyrics with a live band (Yo this sh** is funky) Yo f** funky, the sh** hit the fan Shame if you're stepping to my set You n***as get wet, nah f** it, it's just a motherf**ing d**h threat Yeah, I got you b**hes on lockdown, you n***as get knocked down You're running cause I'm gunning your block down, punk So save the b**h riff cause my four-fifth lifts I'm tossing stiff off of f**ing cliffs Get close, I got you on scope, you walking on thin rope So I'm a shoot 'em up like dope Cause to make my notes I'm a cut throats Bodies are thrown off boats and do a dead man's float Straight down a river Huh, with a bullet inside his motherf**ing liver Another hooker got thrown out Stepped right into the crossfire and got her brains blown out So you n***as better buck Cause when my coat's full of buckshots, I don't give a f** You think you're down with the murder guys Bullsh**, say hello to that dirt you're gonna fertilize You wonder why the area's stark Homicides just fell ten bones since our car drove When they opened the other trunks that were closed Full of five unidentified John Does All found dead on arrival Cause I pulled up slowly and made 'em holy like Bibles They find a letter and ca**ette Red and said it's just a motherf**ing d**h threat Send the bodies to the morgue for a freezing I got the motherf**ing finger on the trigger cause it's n***a season A punk tried to drop me I left the body sloppy so they can't perform an autopsy Dig a hole for the b**h And put all his pieces and bits inside a ditch Yo, you don't think you're going under I got a bullet with your name, your address, and your phone number So if you want to play games I'm blowing you the f** out the frame You tried to front and got murdered last night So now you float to the motherf**ing light So I'm a step to your grave and make a toast And start shooting at your motherf**ing ghost So may the Lord be with ya Cause I ain't no saint and I don't paint pretty pictures It ain't nothing but bloodshed Stains of brains on the rug and less blood in your head You want to make me upset? Huh, then I'm a promise you a motherf**ing d**h threat