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Interpret:
Ice T
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| Ice M.F. T
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Ice M.F. T
Yeah! 1993, Im back motherfucker, this is Ice T.
Got my nigga Ice Cube in the motherfuckin house.
Yeah! Up here in the ammo dump studios I got my
nigga Aladdin, SLJs in the motherfuckin place,
behind the mixin boards,
we about to do dis shit like this here!
Verse 1:
Its goin down tonight in L.A.
Buckshot and uzis spray
Microphone blowa
The bitch checka
The ho wrecka
Ice motherfuckin T
Nigga step to me
But grab ya hoes quick
Cause the Syndicates throwin that crazy dick
Punk motherfuckers run up
Youll get done up
Well have your ass gunned up
Before sun-up
So whats the color Im raggin?
Been a millionare for years
Still saggin
Left pockets stuffed with the ???
.380 in my right so it sags a little bit
More than the rest of my gear
When Im on tour
I empty clips
Bust lips
And break jaws
Cause I love to loc up
So punk motherfucker dont choke up
When youre talkin to me
Chorus:
Ice, Ice motherfuckin T (x4)
Verse 2:
Bush, Quayle and Clinton got a problem with me:
The motheruckin T
I give less than a fuck about any of them
Or their fuckin police friends
Theyd like to take me out
Make me a goner
They even tryin to sweat Time Warner
Why?
For tellin the truth to the youth
That a lot of motherfuckers are hot
And want police shot?
You cant stop the shock (?)
The fires are out
But the coals are still hot
I got juice to bring pain
You tryin to fuck with the Ice
Are you insane?
This shit is bigger than me
Be warned
Its the calm before the storm
And every fuckin thing I write
Is gonna be analyzed by somebody white
Chorus
Verse 3:
Run motherfucker, hide motherfucker, trip motherfucker, die motherfucker
You dont give love
And you wont get loved
You dont push
And you wont get shoved
No joke
I aint here to laugh
I aint here to cry
But every night of the week
One of my homies die
Eeny meeny mynie moe
Bloods pourin out the naps of your afro
It could be you
Could be you
Could be you
Could be your whole damn crew
It happens real quick
Screechin tires
Next thing youre hit
Your bodys cold
Your bodys hot
You feel your chest
You gasp for breath
Youre shot
And now your homies is trippin
Lookin for a gat to put they clip in
Street crime-
Thats the thing I bring, Ice T
I rap ??? sing
They call it controversy
I call it truth with no mercy
The beats are phat Ammo Dump tracks
The kind that make speakers crack
Not made for squares
Or the weak punks
That made the bump trunks
Press-
Get the fuck out my fuckin face
I aint got no more time to waste
A ho is a ho, a bitch is a bitch, a nigga is a nigga
And thats it
Im through explainin the shit
You just makin me backtrack
The next duck reporter might get hit with a blackjack
Plus
Every one of my true fans
Totally understands
A nigga like me
Chorus (x2) |
Eingetragen |
12.Oct.2001 22:10:54 |
Letzer Aufruf |
21.May.2004 06:05:29 |
Besucher |
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