Bloody samurai, my feet will never die
Bloody samurai, my sword will never die



Yeah, I'm like daredevils, I dare devils to take it to that level

Make 'em dig they own grave, with they own shovels
Sharpshooter drop helicopters, black out shadows
Cause when it's time to ride, it's like pedal to the metal

Full fledged, beat suicidal, leave holes with skull heads
Hit your cult for your vote, leave 'em all dead
And some, Knights like games, plus handsome

Hoes hold me ransom, you mad and throw tantrums
Seven braids like Samson, strength of Jobe
Since these ^!$$%s wanna trip, I make it all unfold

Didn't choose the genie, didn't choose the leprechaun
^!$$%s better watch the grapes, like they stepping on
Thinking it's a game, I rose him, now your $$# is frozen

Nuclear explosion, we straight West Coasting



I was born as a soldier, and I'll fight in a field
I'll run like a hunter, and I'll die in the field






The street apostle with Roscoe's, that'll burn flesh off your fossil
Make you suck on that nozzle, 'fore you swallow these hollows
Clutching a bottle, yeah, I'm a hard act to follow

^!$$%, I don't write raps, little homey, I write novels
Every chapter I capture, the mind of millions
When I slang raps like crack, to the women and children

Bring down the building, crime wars, oh what a feeling
Feels good like I'm puffing on that sticky chameleon
The street villain, made most of his money from drug dealing

It's rules to the game, trust nobody that's squealing
Cause snitching is a pet peeve, like a (*##$ with a bad weave
It's not honor amongst thieves, ^!$$% deal with greed

I'm from a breed of real killas, that's cutthroat
That'll front you to work and kill you if a buck short
Bloodsport, flick you like the butt of my Newport

Or with the butt of my gun, take that, ^!$$%, run



I come to stop the hollering and screaming, blaow
Stop screaming, make a ^!$$% wish he still dreaming
Since appearing against a ninja, taught him barbarianism

South Central mentalism, like the local news on the local high school
For all this realism, don't let all the whites go there
Cause all the whites'll go there, have 'em all braiding they hair

And having tattoos, and street numbers instead of good grades from school
It's like ridicule, and what would Jesus do?
If he was standing at apartment, he was beeping with that dizzle

Like a hole ain't enough to end all ridicule
But a ho'll get real holy enough to preach and end you






If you win, I'll tell you where to find the number two
If I win, I have your head
Do we have a deal?