Straight Gutta - Method Man, Streetlife, Redman

I’m from the killa killa hill, we keep it real consistent

For that dollar dollar bill, we will murder you in an instant

Fuck what your name is, you’ll be non-existent

If you ever try to show any form of resistance

I’m strong in the hood.

I’m in a good position

When I walk they salute, when I talk they all listen

You acting the part like you in an audition

Where shoot out’s in the parks is a daily tradition

This is modern warfare, we play with live ammunition

Shot you through your third eye, will change your whole disposition

The body never lie, call me the mortician

Every death has a story to tell, so pay attention

Premonitions on my life, slip the banana clip in

Never put your hat on the bed, I’m a little superstitious

Got my black suit on, they say I am acting suspicious

Big gun in my palm, look like my arm is missing

Ayo one MC two MC

When my gun out, everybody goes down

Word on the street, these boys get butter

Fuck with me, nigga, cause this straight gutta

Got my black suit on, we get malicious

Hanz On checking in for the squad, he on his pivot

Got them big guns, make ‘em disappear, call ‘em wizards

Will oblige, till you meet your demise, this shit is physics

Mr. Barka newest gee on the block, he is the shizit

Suffer Mossberg wounds to ya frame, you move a smidgen

Hanz rollin with the man he the Meth, pay you a visit

Prerequisite have them all in the dirt.

They all can get it

Used to percolate the crack in the pot, until it dried

Now I am occupying spots on your block, that shit is aye

And when we popping off the gun at your top, we make it pie

You better take another look at your seeds, and holla bye

Yo as far as ma’fuckas concerned, yo this is it

John Blaze press a button on dudes, they getting hit

As far as guns & that street shit go, my niggas fit

Hanz on with the cavalry yo, we in the mix

Ayo one MC two MC

When my gun out, everybody goes down

Word on the street, these boys get butter

Fuck with me, nigga, cause this straight gutta

I got 28 38's 48 machine guns

Wu-Tang recon, check out the retard

I want that boat money carrying my green card

Caesar planet of the grapes in the weed jar

I’m straight gutta, mind on butta

Everything dirty wear a rubber for the come up

Block nigga shine like a 5D shutta

Red, Hanz & Street run this mother

We getting beaucoup scrilla

My brothers on their grind

Not another Columbine call me new school killa

Scoop of French vanilla brought a duce duce with her

I might pull a Lil Jon and let the bruce bruce hit her

I’ll be gone till November gon' cry me a river

You could die, but I figure I’ma try and be the bigger man

I and my gorillas, they gonna fry em up for dinner

Like them boys from Cypress Hill said (how I could just kill a man)

Ayo one MC two MC

When my gun out, everybody goes down

Word on the street, these boys get butter

Fuck with me, nigga, cause this straight gutta