Grab the gauge, full of rage, 'cause the bullshit you started,
Put your vest on, bitch, and watch; I'll aim for your head.
[M-Child]
Get your shit together, nigga, before your body be dragged,
Leave you stanky like some panties in a fat bitch's ass.
I'm kicking with top-notch, moving over for my class,
Something in me forever burning like Jehova harrass.
Motherf*ckers on my street, we be 'bout making scrilla',
M.P.D. hop on the scene, we be vamping, my nigga.
If you ain't from Orange Mound, acting like you a killa',
Stick your chest out like you hard, yo, give up, they gonna miss ya.
Niggas don't get the picture, I tell 'em time after time,
Can't stress that shit enough, not even up in my rhyme.
So I stay cool; when a pack a niggas, cock my nine,
Get stupid if you want 'em, so anxious, I hear you whine.
Protect your shit; most of you niggas be faking,
Bitch, I'll jump on you like grease and jump on you when you fry bacon.
Don't play no games, M-Child'll leave your shit wet,
Like a p*ssy that's been f*cked, Georgia, you can't forget, yeah.
[Chorus x4]
[M-Child]
I be looking like a possum, I walk the streets at night time,
Taking back what be mine, put that shit in my rhyme.
M-C-H-I-L-D, a Memphis, Tennessee figure,
I'm a ghetto-type nigga, f*ck one, pull back the trigger.
If a nigga talk shit, and it ain't even worth it,
I'll stick a beer in your ass and won't think twice about it.
But if a nigga get me, this rapping shit won't stop,
The lord'll have me up in heaven bumping out with Tupac.
Until the f*cking row blows, I'll treat you niggas like hoes,
The only thing that you can do with rhymes; startin' wear some panty-hose.
Pockets so swole, rocking shows, I know my roll,
Mad enough to knock your ass up side the head with a phone-pole.
And if it get krilla', gon' dynamite I toss,
I'm the motherf*cking boss your punk ass, settle for loss.
When I cross your path, you won't laugh, you'll be scared,
I'll crawl up in your head and talk some fusion, now you dead.