P.R. TERRORIST - Criminal

Added at 2007-07-22 10:39:08
Hits this week: 0

(feat. 9th Prince, Prodigal Sunn, Shyheim)

[Intro: Shyheim]
27, aight, Terrorist, Killarmy, yeah
Rulin' this, yea, real niggas love this shit right here
Uh, come on, my real niggas gon' love this shit right here
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
My real niggas gonna love this shit, my real niggas gonna love this shit
Watch, my real niggas gonna love this shit, tellin' you
Real niggas, only real niggas bump shit like this, for real

[Shyheim]
I smack niggas like you and tell 'em, go get your gun
As far as I'm concerned, you can suck dick and swallow cum
I'm God's son, the rose of salvation
Product of the ghetto, I'm the street's creation
I move like vampires, only at night
Handgrip like pliers, on the glock wit rapid fire
It's automatic, Shyheim keeps a ratchet
Me and thugs run together like cigarettes and matches
Better give me mines, or I'mma let them rob you
What would you do, when the dogs say you fool?
Run in hideouts? Let me find out
You squat when you piss, scared to pull your dick out
I love drama, that's why surgeons know my name
In the E.R. unit, for givin' cats pain
I catch another "Buck 50", 'fore I give up my chain
I'm God when I'm angry, makin' thunder and rain

[P.R. Terrorist]
You hardly qualify, fuckin' wit I, Terrorist, die
I'm never calm, niggas scheme on gold and plat' charms
Wit leathers and goose feathers on, I never felt the weather warm
It's hot like when the sweaters torn, from the lead of Desert Storm
Your resume was never sworn, I'm sharper than the cactus thorn
My practice on the patient's juggler, his ass was gone
Backdrafts the norm', expose the chemical bombs
Criminals, cons, thug drug dealers that carry arms
Yo, leprechaun, show me the pot of gold
Before my slug blow pain at third nostril like Picasso
In your face, invadin' my space, you sayin' your grace
I'm leavin' you laced, and beatin' the case
All fake niggas stay in their place, it's the thrill of "The Chase"
Tongue kiss the track, blow out the back of the base

[9th Prince]
Fifty four shots aimed at your knot
We plot like them killers who shot Tupac
Shyheim, pass me the iron glock, we keep crime in stock
Platinum frame specs got me lookin' like Cyclops
We hardcore like gang wars wit C4, raw like cavemen fightin' dinosaurs
Outlaws, when I hear streets call, we brawl
My dogs start to crawl, like project pitbulls
Iron Metal Jackets is full, ready to blow ya fuckin' head off
Like a sawed-off, you soft like a homo gettin' slain up north, word life

[Chorus x2: P.R. Terrorist, Prodigal Sunn]
Everybody wanna be a thug
Nobody wanna feel a slug, crush, stay mug
Everybody wanna weep when they see the slugs
Yet everybody coppin' pleas when they see the judge
It's Criminal

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