(Kokane)

Ah yeah...



(Spice 1)

Murder is a part of the game and the jealous got me strapped

Crunch nappy sack, sick homies who got my back

Dead bodies, handcuffs, and house rage

Two and the one up on that dope track, sportin gangsta brains

Me and my homies feelin bail up in the hooptie

with the fifth degree in Martin, the car ain't startin

Some haters rolled up fo' deeper than the Chevy

Wavin Techs up in the air like Machine-Gun Kelly

I tell all my partners to bail up out the bucket

One raised the clout and the other gettin ducked quick

enough, been rough so I begin to bust, straight dome shots

droppin got them shakin like they cop lockin

Ski skirt clout smokin down the street

with his player partner beatin up at these niggas up in the other seat

I check myself see if I'm shot, but they don't hit me

Shoppers singin like Whitney they wanna fit me

With a Full Metal Jacket, but they don't get me

Not one bullet touch my body, not even nick me

We rushed my homie to the nearest Carsa hospital

But it's too late he all felt stiff like a pop sickle (damn!)



(Chorus wvariations: Kokane)

Situations gotta stick, I got my own cop tryin to test me

Got me caught up in this drama, yeah!

I don't give a fuck about you

As long as the pigs don't go step on my shoes

Got me caught up in this drama, yeah!



(Spice 1)

We shipped this spot for homicide, heat emergency

Feelin go perform my own open heart surgery

Because my partner shouldn't died like that

We gotta show my homie love and get them busters back

So we mobb through the ghetto lookin for revenge

But we can't find a soul, fools talkin bout us gettin cold

Behold a Chevy with gold deeds -ac