Lyrics:
I been used to it
I put a blade on the glock like a motherfuckin bayonet
Locked in my own head, will i go to hell again?
12 gauge in the mouth, will I
when i’m on the stage
Fuck a lil 9 you get hit with that gauge
moved out out the spot 12 trying to raid
I got it out the mud you had this shit made
I
Rhyme Syndicate, a storm incubating
The Syndicate's stronger day by day
12-gauge leave suckers brutally
Layin' in the concrete, kick ya face
Your
the freak show
They all coming over wanna dance on my pole
At the after party, only invite the freak hoes
I like girls sleeping in with my girls
Call me Big
FREAK
This is for my tail clappers, mail stackers
Ass shakers, cash makers, who blast Vegas
Yo, this is for the freaks baby, petite ladies
Even
admit I been tempted by drugs
I admit that I just need a hug (I)
I admit the devil talk to me sometimes
But the devil is not who I trust (yeah, not who
looked up, and all I saw was blue lights
If I die tonight, I'm dying in a gunfight
I grabbed the AK, my homie took the 12 gauge
Load 'em up quick,
P.O.W.'s got hung
What the fuck do I know about a grenade
All I know is the couch and my 12 gauge
And what if that pin gets stuck?
Several more
P.O.W.'s got hung
What the fuck do I know about a grenade
All I know is the (????) in my 12 gauge
And what if that pin gets stuck?
Several more casualties
Oz:
My engine cold I cannot
Just put 4s on the drop
Hoe next door is so hot
Pop up show then pop out
Pop fasho go now
They gone go for the I
Pierce
right out the sky go bad
From outta nowhere, you might find your career
Come to it, and I was like (oh, yeah)
See us come to award shows we're like
be happening
(Oh my god)
There's one, more show
and it's gonna be in Ventura
I call up, the guys
Gotta get the tickets
I'll even drive
It's the day of,
is wrong
Glaze finna get his mothafuckin' rap on
So would whack DJ's back up off the 12 gauges
Give him some room
While the boom from the stage is
shotgun
Gave that bitch molly and a 12 gauge bet that hoe pop one
Ooh I got the ratchets on me
Fuck the couch I'm on the floor with these ratchets homie
by funk
Mothafucka, you ain't see my trunk
I got a (SK) and a (AK)
And a (12 gauge) that'll fuck a nigga whole day
So recognize a real nigga from
laid in a fuckin hot tub
Takin my 12 gauge shotgun and pop blood
Make hot sluts the Great Lakes lost flood
Then graduated to Jeffry Dahmer on dust
your luck low
I didn't know til I was drunk though
You freak cats get played out
Get robbed and laid out
Prostitute turned snitch i got the gauge out
96
pages
Practice our aim we shooting at ranges
We number one, don't question our ages
Still fuck 12, but we keeping the gauges
Setting these trends, they
of 12 actors named Cory
Shows for next fall, they already been namin
CSI: Boise, and Touched by an Uncle
Both sound pretty lamen, and so does everybody
there
The way it looks, you'll end up in Playboy books
While your man is in Manhattan snatching pocket books
Bugging and mugging with a big 12 gauge
honey's on the jock, show love
Flex the head nod let 'em know, what's up
Ask shorty for the digits so we can link up
I lean to the side, drive by, flash
poppin' game, rollin' up
Summertime West Side, English Road 12:00
Pull up on the scene drop top on dubs
As the tune knocks, honey's on the jock, show love
after dark (Murda) (Murda) Killin It just don't stop (Homocidal) The 12 gauge left you up and down But another victim called the D-E-A-D Listen to that
see 12 like 6th grade You see 12 in a Shot gauge
Be soft singing like 12 play while u Burn sage
Been had rage 15 yrs been had range
A lot of shit
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