Point The Finger Lyrics

You could get the finger
Come and get some!!
The middle.
Aaaww yeah!
They love to point the finger.
Boom!Boom!Boom! on your black a*s, bitch.
-Chorus repeats-
I thought I hit rock bottom,
Then my album point the finger.
I guess nobody loves a real nigga-slash-rap singer.
I thought I'd bring a little truth to the young troops.
I brought proof that the niggas need guns too.
It's not to be a racist, but let's face this.
Wouldn't you if we could trace places.
I got lynch spots from the cops.
And till this day, the same motha f**ka on the beats gettin major pay.
But whenI get my techa-techa techs out.
So, we prayin for these pigs to knock the blacks out.
Ain't that a bitch.
Some officers'll get rich.
Whoopin on thugs and robbin drug dealers for their shit.
As far as jealousy, being a celebrity,
No matter who committed the crime, they all yell at me.
And the media is greedier than most.
You could sell em your soul and they'll be on ya till a nigga's a ghost.
And everyday I read the paper, there's another lie.
They show my picture for the crimes of another guy. Now how's that for the life of a big shot.
A dead cop, a law suit, a little kid shot.
I play them funky a*s marks in the park
By tryin to earn their stripes in the dark.
Just cuz I come here, don't mean I from here.
Peep.
Only jealous motha f**ka beef.
Point the finger.
-Chorus repeats-
As I run up on a mad man, a nut case with a screw loose.
A zoot troupe full of foolies with toolies.
Niggas run to me.
Don't come to me with beef.
Take your jewels and your jeep.
Boom! Boom!, let that a*s sleep.
It's gettin hectic.
Niggas run quick.
Buckshots are the payback for dumb shit.
All you niggas on the block tryin to test me,
Best wear a vest so I could open like I'm sesame.
I'll run up on your man deep.
While your tryin to sleep, I'm steady pumpin bullets in your sheets.
Wake up.
Motha f**ka, don't stutter.
Point blank by a nigga from the gutter.
Yeah.
Give me mine, give me mine, give me mine.
Made my rhyms, now I'm back here bustin 9's.
And brothas can't get none. Hell no.
A quick fury and he's bury with a swell jaw.
I came in from the amateaurs to pro hits.
And 5-0, so you know I take no shit.
And everybody wants to kill a bringer.
I'm bad news so they choose,
To point the finger.
-Chorus repeats-
1,2,3.
Peace to the real Gs.
Stay mean till these motha f**kas kill me.
I bring skills and I been killin wills.
Smokin sess till I'm ill.
Still feel me?
I say 1,2,3.
Peace to the real Gs.
Still mean till these motha f**kas kill me.
Pick it up, pick it up, give it up.
Best to duck or get f**ked for bucks.
Scream 1,2,3.
Peace to the real Gs.
Still mean till these motha f**kas kill me.
I can't give up.
It's a rap thang.
And I ain't goin back to the crack game.
You can do it son.
Be a man and stand up or run.
Bitches, let em point the finger.
You can do it son.
Be a man and stand up or run.
Snitches, let em point the finger.
Yo, 1,2,3.
Peace to the real Gs.
Still mean till these motha f**kas kill me.
I guess nobody loves a rap singer.
That's why these motha f**kas point the finger.
-Chorus repeats-

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