MC Hawking - All My Shootings Be Drivebys lyrics

Trash Talk Ah yeah, that's right motherf**ers! I'm back riding a funky track. I got a story to tell you all, So listen up! Yo! Trip on this! Verse 1 I'm rolling through the hood on a Saturday night, got a 40 in my left hand, my dick in my right, some chronic in my lap, a pager in my cap, and a 9 millimeter in the small of my back. I'm just chilling no place to be, I take another pull off my 40 z. I'm thinking 'bout spinning a fat a** tree, a B to the L to the U-N-T. Then I get a call on my dope cell phone, check the caller ID, what up homes? Yo, it's the Doom and his news ain't good: "little Pookie got capped last night in the hood." I feel like the world is fading away, I saw Little Pookie just the other day. Pookie was my boy we shared Kool-aid in the park, now some punks took his life in the dark. I ask Doomsday who the motherf**ers be, "some punk a** b**hes from MIT." The f**ing Institute, man I should've known, I say meet me at my crib and hang up the phone. Playtimes over I got a job to do, and the world will be less crowded by the time I'm through, and I'll keep rolling while bullets fly, cause all my shootings be drivebys. Verse 2 One minute to midnight we hit the street, cold as a cadaver, hard as concrete. Doomsday's packing a baby Mac, got my AK-47 and the nine in my back. The Alpine's glowing, P-E's flowing, got my swerve on tight and my game face showing. Them damn punks are gonna pay, the Hawks on the case a bird of prey. Then up ahead cold chilling in the street, six motherf**ers from MIT. I flick off the safety, check my grip, and load a dum-dum clip. I glance at the Doom to make sure he's packed, his fingers on the trigger of his baby Mac. Time to give a Newtonian demonstration, of a bullet its ma** and its acceleration. Nine on my lap AK in my hand, I roll up slow like a snake in the sand. I wait till I'm sure they can see my face, then I bust out slugs to the beat of the ba**. The streets sketched out in the full moon light, MIT punks dying left and right. There's nowhere to run don't even try, cause all my shootings be drivebys. Verse 3 Then silence hits the street like a bomb, an eerie calm like the eye of storm. Beneath the glow of an old street light, dead MIT punks be the only sight. 6 motherf**ers no longer alive, and Pookie's been avenged 1 for 1 plus 5, and we'll be long gone 'fore the cops arrive, 'cause all my shootin's be, Drivebys. Trash Talk Ah yeah! I'm busting more sh** than an incontinent man at a chili cook-off! The moral of the story is: Don't f** with the Hawkman, 'cause the Hawkman ain't down with that eye for an eye bullsh**. f** that! You take an eye and I'll take your motherf**ing head!