Trails of Flowalistics - Cramp Your Style lyrics

(I cramp your style With a bullet and a smile) --] Onyx [ VERSE 1 ] Ugh, n***as on the d-l casin me out Truckin my j**els, feelin for the tools When they come they gots to come correct Because they know I catch wreck A well-known wild street vet Step into the k** zone, baby, it's on I pack the twin nine-mills that'll lift your dome Chrome pump with double-eyed slots and such A fully-auto Mac-dime that is sure to touch Ya, bust you with the Desert Eagle Street legal, move against my peole And the Ice gets evil Hit you with the .44 Smith & Wes- Son, you're best to run cause my Tec eats pests I got a Glock with the laser, hot police taser Step in real close, I hit your throat with the razor You wanna live or die, it's your decision Talk sh**, you're dissin, I got you in my night vision Brain fragments on the street released Another n***a fronts hard, another n***a deceased I got a H.K., A.K. and a M-16 A 12-gauge street sweeper with the circular clip Quick to let projectiles fly, you die And watch your fat moms cry - bull's eye (I cramp your style With a bullet and a smile) --] Onyx What you think all the guns is for? [ VERSE 2 ] What's up, n***as don't seem to hear Still lookin crazy, let me make this clear Fool, the Ice ain't havin it And when I let loose lead, believe I'm accurate Fat scope on a 30 ot 6 Sawed-off double barrel and a pistol grip Pump on my lap at all times I fill my gauge shells with nickels and dimes Thompson Center spittin .45 slugs Black Mac-11, Python .357 Snub-nose .38 or .380 Seventy Automatic, full metal jackets Hollow points comin atcha fast You feel the slug before you hear the blast (I cramp your style With a bullet and a smile) --] Onyx Muthaf**as frontin hard Lookin at n***as crazy and sh** Make a n***a break n***a don't want me to pull out [ VERSE 3 ] I don't like shootin but I do shoot straight n***as I be rollin with will shoot up a wake Why you wanna step in the sights of a n***a Known hair trigger, the coroner delivers More cold bodies to the morgue each weekend One minute you bleed, the next minute you're leakin Best to listen close cause this ain't no boast And never forget that I leave you wet Bloody, sticky, holes in your Dickey's Oh what a pity, lookin all sh**ty My Winchester will get the best of ya Hand grenades will fade all the rest of ya I reach out and touch you with the parabellum You got a crew, you better tell em