|
Yeah! Yeah! |
|
Go nigga, raise hell! |
|
Yeah! Yeah! |
|
Raise hell! |
|
Yeah! Yeah! |
|
Go nigga, raise hell! |
|
[Verse One: Lil' Fame] |
|
The new single, kid get your shit mixed |
|
Catch this new slug from the M.O.P. hitlist |
|
It's thorough for the cars, for the clubs, for the Jeeps |
|
(For the fellas on the corner posted up 20 deep) |
|
Hold it down! Home Team back out to sail this |
|
Make 'em collapse with caps and Fame make 'em famous |
|
The "Downtown SWinger" gun slingers rock wild |
|
And when I die, I won't be puttin out flames in hell |
|
Cop a 10 milli from the corner store Arab |
|
Fools with truck jewels get stuck for they karats |
|
Hold on you hear somebody comin, you hear somebody gunnin |
|
Them niggaz that you run with is runnin |
|
Cause it's (BULLETS OVER BROWNSVILLE!) |
|
I'm from the place where trey-pounds and fo-pounds kill |
|
Fool how that sound? (ILL!) |
|
The star vendor, bend 'em like car fenders |
|
Serve 'em like bartenders, what's next on the agenda? |
|
Dope rap, we drop off crack, they can't stand it |
|
When I'm {?} when only we be gettin 'em open like the 'Ville |
|
With this fresh rush, show me on point in this game |
|
cause Fame plays well, and I raise well, so I raise hell! |
|
[Chorus] |
|
Yeah, go nigga, raise hell! |
|
Yo, yeah, raise hell! |
|
Go nigga, raise hell! |
|
[Verse Two: Billy Danze] |
|
Raise hell, it's another death wish, I guess it's time |
|
To grip nines, to rip behind enemy lines |
|
Where it's ruthless, and get the troopers |
|
that think it's somethin sweet |
|
M.O.P. niggaz was raised in the street, kid |
|
Ain't nuttin changed cause I'm rappin, I am a |
|
ill nigga and I still will bust my hammer |
|
(Is he a gangsta?) Blaze F-A-G's I don't stress 'em |
|
When I, catch 'em I stretch 'em I bless 'em |
|
and let his momma dress 'em |
|
The name's Bill, the game's real, me and Fame feel |
|
we can blow trial, and yo I'm ill |
|
So blaow in your face! (Bla-bla-bla-blaow) to the death |
|
(Buka-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-KLAK) 'til there's nothin left |
|
I ain't gon' be playin no games witchu frauds |
|
Whenever the two guns bustin just don't be trustin this Drama Lord |
|
(Take it to 'em son!) Yeah we got a plan, and |
|
Billy Danze packin more steel than Bugsy Moran{?} |
|
To the terrible organization, it's the M.O.P.'s last generation |
|
Who wanna confrontation? |
|
It's hammer time and I'm layin on you to see me |
|
(Is he a tough guy?) Nah that's how they make him look on TV |
|
Fake jerks I rattle, snake chumps I saddle |
|
And ride they ass all the way to the bus without no truss |
|
The Hill-top, will-rock, non-stop |
|
Squeeze-glocks, at the motherfuckers son |
|
He can't run, so I ain't gotta chase him |
|
(Do you think you can take him?) |
|
Take him then I back him down and lace him, raise hell! |
|
[Chorus] |
|
Raise hell! |
|
Hell, hell, go nigga raise hell! |
|
Raise hell! |
|
Go nigga raise hell! |