Tom Coyne - What Makes Me lyrics

See.. most wanted.. its the epitome of this rap sh** f** yea Get it.. m-r-dot.. m-a-n (we bring it to anybody that want it) B-double-o-n-i-c (Cause we real.. check the stats).. mista man.. boo-bonic (Chorus) What makes you a thug n***a The sounds of guns bustin adrenaline pumpin And don't give a f** about nothin What makes you a k**a The feelin that I get when I touch somethin Or how I give it to anybody that want somethin What makes you a smart n***a How I got rid of the hammer.. And got a one way ticket down to Atlanta What makes you a rich n***a The fact that I'm not a b**h n***a.. I do it solo ain't worried bout a snitch n***a (Boo) I'm the one who can stand the hit and fry somethin f** rap you wanna see if I'm real? try somethin A g-a-n-g-s-t-e-r we are known to leave a n***a in the E.R B-double-o-n..-i-c n***a.. actionious style leave you in a creek n***a Teenager.. you ain't ever seen stranger Iced up cell phone triple A pager Ny blood boil.. easily hate cause agility freezin me hoes never teasin me Think I'm here to amuse you? I crack you the f** up? I'll put out my steel and ill smack you the f** up Thug baby.. I gotta head for the streets You gotta head for business well that's dead when we meet Cause one shot ill have all your business in the streets Comin out slow like a f**in loosely Close your eyes gotta surprise I dare you to peep I put the tec in your mouth now I dare you to speak n***as under pressure look they back sweatin Try me? That's a gamble that lack bettin (Chorus) (Mr.) Mister Man keep a clip wit 50 in it Have ya clique like.. "That's between y'all we ain't in it" Wish my squad would say that we don't even play dat Like you talk fly and all we jus lay back Talkin about what you do to me n***a now why you say dat My clique jet out rounds for y'all they don't play dat All about loadin and co*k and start spittin Here's somethin scream f** y'all n***as and start dippin Hit the bar to relieve my stress and start sippin And get outta town before the cops start trippin We don't play.. we don't care I'll k** you.. right hand to god I swear See myself on the run before I see any jail Can't see myself callin home for bail (I promise you the pain is almost over one more verse motherf**ers) (Chorus) (Mr.) It only take one thing for mister man to come spark ya If my doe light I got to make sh** darker Runnin.. leave you wit a wheel chair or a walker Persuade me to chill? you must be a fly talker You heard this before.. I'm in your crib waitin Two things for you.. Glock no patience Seese what beef? that sh** means nathan Thugs don't talk we just ride till we die Drink till we drunk.. smoke till we high Pop till it clack.. push wigs back Put the gun in your mouth and say point where it's at The ice wrist sh** n***a come on about dat (Aiyyo I love my kids mister!).. I don't doubt that I gotta eat too n***a how about dat For that ransome doe.. kids get kidnapped Your wife act crazy wife get smacked Your clique don't like it your clique get clapped Or I co*k back just to throw flames In case you got a urge to snitch and drop names Leave you open minded n***a wit no brains Shame.. your man was slippin I shot 'em Callin.. tellin my dog I got 'em Hit 'em up top and work my way down bottom Want it wit Mister Man? See n***a that's a problem (Chorus) - repeat 'til fade