Cross me i'll dot your eye
with a shot from my
baby rock a bye
thats glocks aside from all
flocks i side with pasture guys
who blast the side tippin if your black or white
attack tonight the criminal past giving it fast
splitting the cash getting a laugh from that
who trespass that get lashed down
and practically hash browns
because of the shells sound
just smell round my belts down
i don't dance i stomp ground
im mad at dirt rivers and junctions
hopeless nothing those can't cope im something
i've made it far enough to be scarred and tough
with bars and stuff my martyr bluffs
its fishy tarter guts prissy guards are nuts
they think its okay to beef they take it to streets
yet cant arrange a beat or a beatdown
with a fleet of hounds secrete mounds
of molecules sent down
bother the facts dont bother to ask
i have atomic blasts from a sovereign past
i hate the past so i take what i hate right back
at your back