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Album:
Ugodz-illa Presents - The Hillside Scramblers (2004)
[Intro: INF-Black]
Gangster this and gangster that
Half of ya'll ain't gangstas, so hold that *gun shot* Blaow!
[U-God]
I got a deathwish, my playlist is wreckless
Almost famous but the natives gettin' restless
Leave 'em breathless, guess who popped up
With pile out, hear you talkin' like Wu's washed up
Squash what, I got balls and guts, more deluxe
The magnetic flux, in the all black tux'
And my back's all hushed, lead showers for you mutts
I devour the cuts with a power packed punch
And cowards I hunt, when I ride with my gun
I'm like a spoke on the wheel that glides on the drum
Through the, smoke I reveal, I'm the rising sun
That go through your shield, is he really that Hill?
Let the streets decide, with nerves of steel
Let the beats collide, with the death-defyin' skill
And beneath the sky, lurkin' network of strangers
That insert the danger with a touch of a finger
[ChorusNULL (INF-Black)]
Oh no... watch... out... here... they... come
(Gangster this and gangster that
Half of ya'll ain't gangstas, so hold that *gun shot* Blaow!
Stand up... with... my... real... nig... gas
(Gangster this and gangster that
Half of ya'll ain't gangstas, so hold that *gun shot* Blaow!)
[INF-Black]
Yo, aiyo, I'm speakin' for myself, my feets on stealth
Fuck thirty deep, I'm in your hood for delf
Blowin' trees with your main squeeze countin' my shells
As I feed the clips to the T, handle it well
Never been the one to front, son, my history's swell
Tell you how it's gon' be, what it was and what it is
Catch you in your sleep, thug, now your memory lives
The streets get the buzz, no love, them same thugs snitch, bitch
Learned you was livewire, mafia lie
You get wired, by real gangstas and big buyers
Messin' with fire, you ought to leave town
Son, there's rules to this game, and these lames wanna be down
Bringin' all clothes, most fold when it go down
4-5 pounds out the gate, nigga, slow down
I recognize real, and it ain't how you sound
It's the shit that you feel when I'm bustin' the pound
[Chorus]
[HookNULL-Black]
Niggas keep talkin', better keep walkin'
Walk the block frontin', you ain't sayin' nothin'
You ain't poppin' nothin', you ain't cuttin' nottin'
Son, stop stuntin', before I start dumpin'
[Leathafase]
I apply your bones to the grindstone, to roam on the block with the chrome
Son I smack you out your rhinestones, holmes
I zone where the average man is not permitted to stand
Unless you got that thang, in your hands
Screamin' fans wanna touch me, groupies wanna fuck me
And crabs that don't wanna see me make it, try to bust me
Trust me, I got my shit on cock
So now I'm ready to rock you on the spot and put you in a human Ziploc
With the clip in his lock, and my hand over my heart
I swear to be my brother's keeper, til death do us part
The truest darts spoken in broken language, got you soakin' wet
Like a bottle of Dutch juice, with the mint leaves
Nigga please, the trigger squeeze in every direction
Blood is similar to viral effects, enter your section
And my posession is a deadly weapon
This pen that I use, to bang a hole in your neck, nigga, you suspect
[Chorus]
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