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ICE-T lyrics : "Ice M.F. T"

Yeah! 1993, I'm back mother$#&@er, this is Ice T.
Got my ^!$$% Ice Cube in the mother$#&@in house.
Yeah! Up here in the ammo dump studios I got my

^!$$% Aladdin, SLJ's in the mother$#&@in place,
behind the mixin boards,
we about to do dis %#@! like this here!


[Verse 1:]


It's goin down tonight in L.A.
Buckshot and uzis spray
Microphone blowa

The (*##$ checka
The ho wrecka
Ice mother$#&@in T

^!$$% step to me
But grab ya hoes quick
Cause the Syndicate's throwin that crazy dick

Punk mother$#&@ers run up
You'll get done up
We'll have your $$# 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 ???
.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 mother$#&@er don't choke up
When you're talkin to me


[Chorus:]

Ice, Ice mother$#&@in T [x4]


[Verse 2:]


Bush, Quayle and Clinton got a problem with me:
The motheruckin T
I give less than a $#&@ about any of them

Or their $#&@in 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 mother$#&@ers 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 $#&@ with the Ice
Are you insane?
This %#@! is bigger than me

Be warned
It's the calm before the storm
And every $#&@in thing I write

Is gonna be !@#^yzed by somebody white

[Chorus]


[Verse 3:]


Run mother$#&@er, hide mother$#&@er, trip mother$#&@er, die mother$#&@er
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 ??? 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 $#&@ out my $#&@in face
I ain't got no more time to waste

A ho is a ho, a (*##$ is a (*##$, a ^!$$% is a ^!$$%
And that's it
I'm through explainin the %#@!
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 ^!$$% like me

[Chorus (x2)]

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