South Central Cartel - n***as Git Dealt Wit lyrics

[Young Prod] Yeah Puttin it down like this, b**h S.C.C. back at yo a**, n***a f** everybody That's real [VERSE 1: Young Prod] Rides, from my six-fo' to my Lex-o Bumpin, what would you do if you knew, loc How to put a lick down? Busta, you'se a amateur You get scared when I glare, imagine if if I stare at ya Then you would have to test yo Pro-Keds Cause I done drew down and bust a cap at your forehead So go 'head and jet, but let your big homie know If he got static the automatics is ready-go And what I bang I claim real to the gee The Cartel's cavi, so can we calculate the C As we be dumpin, locin as we slide on the d's And we slip the clips to the B.G. Young P puts it down and ain't nothing changin I'm aimin heat at your dome cause it's gangsta Bustas better raise up off the blocks when we ride Cause glocks leave n***as shell-shocked and they die [CHORUS] O.G.'s get smoked B.B.'s get loced With straps So perhaps n***as get dealt with If caps get peeled and n***as get served With straps So perhaps n***as get dealt with [VERSE 2: Havikk the Rhime Son] I'm up early in the mornin, creasin my Karl Kani's, I'm saggin I reach for my heat, yeah, that .44 magnum It's time to regulate your block, you get twisted I'm easin through your a** like a dick, now it's on, b**h Welcome to the ill sh** where n***as collapse in anger Provokes the Rhime Son to release one out of the chamber Crossin out our sh** in the studio, foolio, you panic And get your a** sunk like the Titanic [?] up the cavi, proceedin to cause the ruckus Meditate with the evil and the devil couldn't touch us It's Prode'je and Rhime Son, Rhime Son and Prode'je Extendin like a clip, hittin dips, no sense in tryin me Ain't no love, focus on the realest No future in your frontin cause you muthaf**as feel this It's S.C.C. and Mouthpiece, so behold another coma I'm in your f**in lung like pneumonia [CHORUS] [VERSE 3: Prode'je] f**in with the realer body-bag-filler-type of n***as k**ers that have you n***as chockin on your livers S.C. could never play the back so the wack I confronted co*ked the 12-guage and head-hunted Had to be a flea cause you f**in with that gee Hav's got the S, Prod's got the C.C. Gettin wreck, fools, you get dealth with Like them n***as Mobb Deep said: you be 'shook' like a earthquake Studio gees I refuse to see When 87 times n***as was accused to g Of bein foulish, but I'ma leave you swoll' like a callous Cancelled like Dallas, knock yo a** off balance I put my foot up in that a**, bro, you didn't know That I can bust your sh** like a pimple And when it's over you be dead, gee I got your number And s**er-a** n***as goin under [CHORUS] [Prode'je] That's right, muthaf**a Nineteen-muthaf**in-ninety-six That S with them 2 C's is gettin wreck on that a** Finna dig a foot off in yo muthaf**in a**, n***a Punk muthaf**as thought we couldn't come back with that real sh** With that shoot-to-k** sh** Havikk the muthaf**in Rhime Son, Mouthpiece and Prode'je Finna break all you muthaf**as down That's right Finna break all you muthaf**as down Cause you punk-a** n***as get dealt with