Osama Ya Mama

Benzo got me fucked up
Don't go and test your luck son
No I'm not a doctor
But I'll cut ya like I am one
All my riders like to play rough
You know we keep them thangs tucked
You know we let them thangs bark
Thunder gods make it rain slugs
Hit your side bitch and your main one
No scoping like I'm gaming
But no this ain't no game man
Y'all miss me with that fake shit
This serves as a disclaimer
It might seem bit complacent
Don't come around false claiming
Scrape your face up off the pavement
Shit gone burn the block is hot
Someone turn the water on
Always screaming fuck the cops
Till I'm in a box to rot
Knock you till your socks are off
Drop you off in the boondocks
Paid the cost to the boss
Go and wipe my shoulders off

Niggas call me Pistol P
But more like Osama B
Dropping bombs for casualties
Next generation Hiroshima
Pull up in the Beamer
Windows down to steam out
Smoke till Emphysema
Get caught up with the reaper
You know I don't give a fuck
I don't really give a shit
Y'all don't think you can get touched
Im'a hit you with the Schmidt
All y'all are counterfeit
All y'all are hypocrites
Go and get your wig split
Throwin down in my mosh pits nigga



Credits
Writer(s): Gerald Pitman
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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