[Buckshot] Most definitely We up in here Boot Camp Clik On the beat... TY Dizzle Ah One Shot Deal Duck Down in this muthafucka once again Let's do this
the problem child, my solution I should move crowds Huh! Tell me how ya like this Or better yet tell me how I could write this Tonight miss I'm a get
off from the south to the north East, west, and we can all get it on, word is bond Shit is like that, write that in your memory bank Boot Camp Clik, thank
though I unload ink cartridges as Red State demigods Cause smearing a salad on a SUV cant Save the black faces at the refugee camp There is your sterling
had nothing left without you- [Chorus:] Dan, my fling is all flung out Now I've got to fall back on dreams I thought I'd try and write you I thought
never post bail, I ain't fuckin wit you If you ain't never did a crime, I ain't fuckin wit you If other niggas write your rhymes, I ain't fuckin wit
arena, It's become a part of us even if we don't understand it. * In attempts to moderate they ask why we don't write love songs. What is it that we
, doing mental cap peelings [chorus] I remember WHEN remember then remember WHAT? remember WOODS in grandma house deep in the cut eating chicken and swine now I write
[Hush] Yo, yo. Its a hundred and fifty emcees. Which one do you be? Count em I met a Redman in Camp Lo named Mic Geronimo He'd Busta Rhyme anywhere,
love will never end Waitin' for the soldier to come back again Never more to be alone when the letter says A soldier's coming home So the letters came from an army camp
c'mon!) Chorus: repeat 2X [DMX] Mother..fuckers, thought that the, X would stop But I got niggaz like, "Yo, who's the next to drop?" From his camp,
Takin you through desolate zones through mic-phones Wit eyes like that of a cyclone So it don't matter what pad you write on You better off writin home
t give it back Swallow this Cris while I Get you where yo ribs is at And yeah thats how I spit 'em tracks They make you wanna get a rest Shit, write my
s ... sleep...uh I can't ol' Burd in the next room havin' nightmares It sound like wind blowin' when she weep, speak I can't I'm tired on the way to the slave camp
with Billy from the hills. Blood flows back and back and back and back, Like a river from a secret source. I feel it wild in me; I pitched my camp At
See, running out the mouth gon' get your face slapped Tell me do you like what you see Is it tight as could be? No, Mase ain't writing for me And I have
t beat me in a tennis game with 20 arms That nigga couldn't beat me in a shootout if he had 50 guns Any nigga try to help him and write his raps you fucking