19 nigga 7, bitch what's happenin?



[Chorus:]

Thirteen muthafuckin years!

I know what to do to knock your stupid ass

so bad you ain't no challenge.

Thirteen muthafuckin years!

This ain't no fluke, this pure deep talent.

Thirteen muthafuckin years!

I know what to do to knock your stupid ass

so bad you ain't no challenge.

Thirteen muthafuckin years!



[Verse 1]

Bow, when I hold the microphone and hold it

Keepin me rappin until I hoarse and swollen

Thirteen years and rollin

I rate colder than coldest

Gettin part of this, niggas don't want no more of this

Never leave you alone in your life, nigga I'm selectin and sellin rhymes

Slap a nigga that style sound some like mine

Mad enough you screamin "It AIN'T!"

(This line whispered, can't hear)

You be pissin me off some the time, take you down one at a time

I'ma be known for fuckin over your whole album

Who want my rhyme?

Keep decling, I'ma keep climbing

Keep duckin, I'ma keep buckin

Keepin heat seekin rhymes comin to get you bitches off me

Disrespectors cow sled, (..?..)

Hard to break, if it comes that way

It took me thirteen muthafuckin years just to make a tape

But that don't mean that my rhymes one of the strongest

All I know I been tryin to make it for the fuckin longest

Fuck the side of all this, long as you done it

When I done it, gettin blunted bout to run this bitch

Takin them riders down with me, clown with me

Leave thirteen in your muthafuckin chest and you can count em



[Chorus]



[Verse 2]

Nigga go pass the vibe, dividin mad this year

Creative catastrophy, leave MCs in closed caskets

Hit ya like full metal jackets, cut like hatchets

Tight as ratchets, and burn like matches

Thick than amino acids, flip like gymnastics, nasty as a pissy mattress

Droppin like the temperature in December

Clippin em, tippin em, been writin raps far back as I can remember

Fulla them rocks, everybody move key

It was ghetto Djs and sucka MCs

Handle your buisness in this industry of competition

Or be at F.W. Bulls washin dishes

Bitch I was born to write million dollar rhymes

Battle in the hallways of Cohen back in 85

86, 87, 88, hooked up with Big Boy records and made my first demo tape

We dropped some real shit in the basement

I had big ol' nigga tracks, raps like pavement

To come from New Orleans made it hard to surface

That's when I got discouraged and joined the service

Pissed of and I (?) before long

I went to war and served federal time before I made it back home

No more rips in my jeans and gettin my cream

Ain't shit unlucky about my number thirteen



[Chorus]



[Verse 3]

I hit the bitch like BOSH! Owwwwww!

Never gon bounce could rap and doin time before I bow

How in the fuck you like me right now

Told your ass she had said I'd be on top of the pile

Cause my rap style is my hustle

I shot niggas up like Muslims

With the flex like muscle

Use a, pretty delievery cause it's most important

I form a style sharp enough to cut straight through the bones

I came from my welts, gave up my belt

I got off from Big Boy records to put my single on the shelf, now

Do I do it? Fuckin right I did it

Shoulda seen the little chir'en in the street singin I'm Not That Nigga

Size ain't nothin nigga, I'm short

Shockin nigga, raah!

They gave me five hundred dollars, shit I quit both of my jobs

Fuck em, got some other shit to do from nine to five

My birthday came, and my sister died

But next year, Mystikal signed a half a million dollar deal with Jive

This shit thats tragic can't be no more

Because of my rings I work at A&P no more

I drive my landcruiser off the show floor

Got the time to time to feel pain, sittin on Volvos

Comin with scheme, up in my dream

Who'd a ever thought I'd be a No Limit soldier

by the end of that thirteen

Thirteen manic muthfuckin years!