Ice M.F. T

歌詞

Yeah! 1993, I'm back motherfucker, this is Ice-T. Got my nigga Ice Cube in the motherfuckin house. Yeah! Up here in the ammo dump studios I got my nigga Aladdin, SLJ's in the motherfuckin place, behind the mixin boards, we about to do dis shit like this here! Verse 1: It's goin down tonight in L.A. Buckshot and uzis spray Microphone blowa The bitch checka The ho wrecka Ice motherfuckin T Nigga step to me But grab ya hoes quick Cause the Syndicate's throwin that crazy dick Punk motherfuckers run up You'll get done up We'll have your ass gunned up Before sun-up So what's the color I'm raggin? Been a millionare for years Still saggin Left pocket's stuffed with the huge-ass grip .380 in my right so it sags a little bit More than the rest of my gear When I'm on tour I empty clips Bust lips And break jaws Cause I love to loc up So punk motherfucker don't choke up When you're talkin to me Chorus: Ice, Ice motherfuckin T (x4) Verse 2: Bush, Quayle and Clinton got a problem with me: The motheruckin T I give less than a fuck about any of them Or their fuckin police friends They'd like to take me out Make me a goner They even tryin to sweat Time Warner Why? For tellin the truth to the youth That a lot of motherfuckers are hot And want police shot? You can't stop the shock (?) The fires are out But the coals are still hot I got juice to bring pain You tryin to fuck with the Ice Are you insane? This shit is bigger than me Be warned It's the calm before the storm And every fuckin thing I write Is gonna be analyzed by somebody white Chorus Verse 3: Run motherfucker, hide motherfucker, trip motherfucker, die motherfucker You don't give love And you won't get loved You don't push And you won't get shoved No joke I ain't here to laugh I ain't here to cry But every night of the week One of my homies die Eeny meeny mynie moe Blood's pourin out the naps of your afro It could be you Could be you Could be you Could be your whole damn crew It happens real quick Screechin tires Next thing you're hit Your body's cold Your body's hot You feel your chest You gasp for breath You're shot And now your homies is trippin' Lookin for a gat to put they clip in Street crime- That's the thing I bring, Ice-T I rap, B.C. I sing They call it controversy I call it truth with no mercy The beats are phat Ammo Dump tracks The kind that make speakers crack Not made for squares Or the weak punks That made the bump trunks Press- Get the fuck out my fuckin face I ain't got no more time to waste A ho is a ho, a bitch is a bitch, a nigga is a nigga And that's it I'm through explainin the shit You just makin me backtrack The next duck reporter might get hit with a blackjack Plus Every one of my true fans Totally understands A nigga like me Chorus (x2)