Uhh

I got seven Mac-11's, about eight, .38's Nine 9's, ten Mac-10's, the shits never end You can't touch my riches Even if you had MC Hammer and them 357 bitches Biggie Smalls, the millionaire, the mansion, the yacht The two weed spots, the two hot glocks HAH, that's how I got the weed spot I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the landspread Lil' Gotti got the shotty to your body So don't resist, or you might miss Christmas I tote guns, I make number runs I give emcees the runs drippin; when I throw my clip in the A.K., I slay from far away Everybody hit the D-E-C-K My slow flows remarkable Peace to Matteo Now we smoke weed like Tony Montana sniff the llello That's crazy blunts, mad L's My voice excels from the avenue to jailcells Oh my God I'm droppin shit like a pigeon I hope you're listenin, smackin babies at they christening So you better grab your pistol cause if you sit still, I'm gonna make your fuckin shit spill And I'm talkin bout buckets, why did I have to do it? Sadat said fuck it, you got a gun, nigga bust it Cause I got mo' shots to pop-ya Big Pop-pa, breakin you off somethin proper Signin off is the hardcore rap singer a.k.a. crack slinger, bring it anytime nigga