The Dog Pound

I'm sick of the busta motherfuckers talking out they neck
Trippin and ripping the pack putting the tech up to my head
Creepin up outta the dirt I'm begging for my death
99 kicking back waiting to be laid to rest

Sticky in the blunt
Inhaling it straight into my lungs
I walk around my hoodie up
Rollin and smoking a double dutch

Smoking until i'm concust
I'm in the yata hitting the clutch
Spinning around and i'm spilling they guts
Turnin ya clique into dust

Stumble into the function
99 a dime a dozen
I be smoking on tha russian
With the clique and we get to busting

Bitch i'm buzzing i ain't coming down
Until i'm the ground
99 rising up outta the dirt
So he could smoke another pound

I'm sick of these busta mf always hit my phone
I'd rather be snorting away all of my funds on my own
I'm sick of living this life i putting the burner up to my dome
Steadily pulling it back now it's down to hell i go

Sick of these fake fuck boys all in my city
I feel 50 yeah it be many men that be steadily fucking wishing
Death upon me now I be itching for an incision into my vision
Feel like committing homicide, envy anyone fuckin with life I don't get it uh

Imma cut slow right into ya front lobe
Yellow mellow when I'm pissing up on ya front door
Paper bag full of shit how it smell tho
Hello fellow I'm gonna write you in my death note

Yagami the light in me I want to see a a little genocide today
No hide and seek come find you in ya sleep and
Sneak into yo mind
Creeping up out the slime
Feeding up on the mice
Cutting up all my ties
I don't

Give a fuck bout about you busta motherfuckers I don't
Want nothing but the smoke get all in my lungs and I'm gon
Pour a cup a someone's innards into my stomach I know
Zed and Saliva never get tired we like two lines of coke