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(first degree):

Shit done changed, the strip got bigger

To make my ends I got the wheel and the trigger

I get my swerve on with the 80 p liquor

The liquor bring out the nigga in this nigga

Got me huntin with my musket, barred down with substance

Bringin my ruckus to the rival fuckas in rival clusters

Im still givin birth to perfect joints, I keep it steady

Still mixin up with skeet sours, I like them heavy

Heavyll put a little bass in your voice

Yamps choice, no rolls royce but I keep it moist

I keep it saucy, ya bossy bitch talkin that costly shit

Bossy bitch think she too flossy to trip

Im first muthafuckin degree, not your average,

Ill have your boulevard hoppin

Poppin off when a baller pack a package of suckin

Fuck you fuckin up duck, stuck like chuck, now, now getcha dome in the trunk

As we donut, I dump, I seen too many moons, took the minds of too many bufoons

Fools with no clues that love to watch my aura glisten,

They still dont listen

I...i got pot thats hot to trot, cant stop, wont stop

I got lynch hung in my backseat sniffin for cops

I receipts of tweed purchase, medical purpose, write off at text time

So yall go home, light the smoke, its relax time



Chorus:

Now I apologize for smoke on my mind

I been workin hard and I got to unwind

About the j.o.a. stayin in my brain

But Im seconds away from goin insane

Now I need to lift away



(lynch):

Now you niggas know I come sick like a lunatic

Man, they must be high cuz they really dont know who they fuckin with

I used to have them all bombed out

Drink alize wine, then rhyme and smoke tweeds till we dropped out

I got the chop out, no doubt,

Cuz if it aint about rappin, gunplays gon happen

Cuz Im tappin at yo window, off that indo, more sacs than santana

Better check your antenna on your radio or your stereo or your video

Cuz Im not that pretty, but in the bedroom Im critical

You got your chance, now use

Hit you with the loaded album, coutesty of siccmade music

Evidently you got something against me

Dont you tempt me, minty smells of the 20 sac of indo, killafornias best

Player haters die a slow death, slow death



Chorus



(ice-t):

I dont wear no chuck taylors and dont sag my pants

But I still lift the switch and make this 64 dance

More niggas with me now than I had in the hood

And they down for whatever and thats all to the good

Wish you would test my technique and heart, nigga what?

Nigga, fuck that, bitch nigga what? baby, duck!

What you wanna do now, ya bleedin from the floor

Nigga wanted beef, now he wants beef no more

Thats how Im coming 9-6, bitch, rich and mad

Hoes in bikinis, rag lambroginis, overseer runnin mad streets

Creepers with beepers and stash spots for glocks

And under car escobar style, buck wild, you been there, you know the terrain

Niggas go insane, tryin to get the green

Im just surviving on the streets with my peeps

And Im livin for the day I catch a punk on the creep, yeah



Chorus

(first degree):

Shit done changed, the strip got bigger

To make my ends I got the wheel and the trigger

I get my swerve on with the 80 p liquor

The liquor bring out the nigga in this nigga

Got me huntin with my musket, barred down with substance

Bringin my ruckus to the rival fuckas in rival clusters

Im still givin birth to perfect joints, I keep it steady

Still mixin up with skeet sours, I like them heavy

Heavyll put a little bass in your voice

Yamps choice, no rolls royce but I keep it moist

I keep it saucy, ya bossy bitch talkin that costly shit

Bossy bitch think she too flossy to trip

Im first muthafuckin degree, not your average,

Ill have your boulevard hoppin

Poppin off when a baller pack a package of suckin

Fuck you fuckin up duck, stuck like chuck, now, now getcha dome in the trunk

As we donut, I dump, I seen too many moons, took the minds of too many bufoons

Fools with no clues that love to watch my aura glisten,

They still dont listen

I...i got pot thats hot to trot, cant stop, wont stop

I got lynch hung in my backseat sniffin for cops

I receipts of tweed purchase, medical purpose, write off at text time

So yall go home, light the smoke, its relax time



Chorus:

Now I apologize for smoke on my mind

I been workin hard and I got to unwind

About the j.o.a. stayin in my brain

But Im seconds away from goin insane

Now I need to lift away



(lynch):

Now you niggas know I come sick like a lunatic

Man, they must be high cuz they really dont know who they fuckin with

I used to have them all bombed out

Drink alize wine, then rhyme and smoke tweeds till we dropped out

I got the chop out, no doubt,

Cuz if it aint about rappin, gunplays gon happen

Cuz Im tappin at yo window, off that indo, more sacs than santana

Better check your antenna on your radio or your stereo or your video

Cuz Im not that pretty, but in the bedroom Im critical

You got your chance, now use

Hit you with the loaded album, coutesty of siccmade music

Evidently you got something against me

Dont you tempt me, minty smells of the 20 sac of indo, killafornias best

Player haters die a slow death, slow death



Chorus



(ice-t):

I dont wear no chuck taylors and dont sag my pants

But I still lift the switch and make this 64 dance

More niggas with me now than I had in the hood

And they down for whatever and thats all to the good

Wish you would test my technique and heart, nigga what?

Nigga, fuck that, bitch nigga what? baby, duck!

What you wanna do now, ya bleedin from the floor

Nigga wanted beef, now he wants beef no more

Thats how Im coming 9-6, bitch, rich and mad

Hoes in bikinis, rag lambroginis, overseer runnin mad streets

Creepers with beepers and stash spots for glocks

And under car escobar style, buck wild, you been there, you know the terrain

Niggas go insane, tryin to get the green

Im just surviving on the streets with my peeps

And Im livin for the day I catch a punk on the creep, yeah



Chorus

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