Masada

2000



[ verse 1 ]

My .44 calicol will silence y'all souls, masada

The ghost of the most prolific writer

Upon my death bed in roast in fire

See my most desires

Smell the smoke from my flesh as my ghost rise up

Hear the voices of 100 choirs

And angels looking down at my body attached to wires

Priest kissed by the widow spider that spit saliva

I write for lifers and boxers at rikers

I write pain

Blue ink replaced the blood in my veins

Thug in this game, flooded up rings

Cluttered up change, quick to pop a slug in your brain

If you a killer, then slugs we exchange

We like the mobsters, bullet shells and choppers

Cop cars and road blockers, they tryin to knock us

Catch us duck behind the bitches, d's tryin to pop us

On cbs news while the world watch us



[ chorus ]

I do this shit for my thugs

I do this shit for the chicks at the club

I do this shit for the niggas that i love

I do this shit for the streets, cause a nigga gotta eat, luv (2x)



[ verse 2 ]

I write theories that's motion pictures, y'all hear me?

I spit it clearly to roast y'all niggas, feel me?

Gangster, life of a don my icon

Sling on my right arm, rubber grip tight in my left arm

Body suited with teflon, it's brooknam







Raise a eyebrow at the child, respectfully bow

Pay hommage, gold studs in my garment

Hot slugs miss me cause i'm god-sent

If it hit me, it's god's wish

No man taketh a life, i'm late in the night

Catch me in the hood shakin the dice

Contemplatin a heist

Some say my team is satan's alike

Cartel, pop shells till our heart fails

Brooknam, a.k.a. roswell

Clappin at the spaceship

Bitches with fake tits

At