Cross 'Em Out And Put A 'K Lyrics

In about four seconds, a gangsta will begin to speak

Well, it's the mad chickenhawk with the dirty lick style
And pullin' 211's ever since taa-doow, there's ten million ways to die
Choosin' Mack and hit the boopin', floosin'
Off this gang-bang music, so all I'd wanna got the room stumped

I'm smokin', make dough like Trump
Cookin' chowder to they chunk, punk
Straight off dust, nigga trust I bust
And cross 'em out and put a 'K if they ain't down with us

It's off the hook, nigga, I'm a Westside crook, nigga
The forty motherf**kin' dollars on my books, nigga
I'm not an MC, I'm not a G
I mean I'm A to f**kin' Z and everything in between

Rappers like gangbangin' 'cos I'm in it to the fullest
And my hood ain't never dodgin' bullets
It's all about the Bloods and Crips, no one tri-ips
Colors and dips, bitches and chips, nigga

What's this my friggen low-grader system
That takes puff B I itches on the premises
Nigga be dissin' on a down low, so now my motto's
"f**k every rapper from the East and the West Coast"

New School, Old School, I hate you motherf**kers
I'm steady plottin', cracklin' my a*s wit'cha album covers
Cross 'em out and put a 'K
Then no Saint days, nigga, then run the f**kin' holidays

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.
'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.
'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.

Goddamn nigga, this shit make me sick
All these West Coast cowards ridin' New York beat
Busters get sprayed wearin' high-top fades
And Cango's backwards with dark-a*s shades

No switchblades, nigga, we shoots
That's how it is on the West when you're true to your roots
So kill the action, punk, hootchie bitches clown
Nigga get your sag on and keep your pants legs down

Check it, ho' shut your mouth and get naked
I'm Connected and ain't no bitches singin' on this record
No R and B tracks, just niggas on wax
Kickin' facts with these gang-bang raps

Every nigga in the industry wanna rap with me
Like it's all good, you ain't from my hood
Nigga, I don't even like your shit, I don't like your form
I'm true, your through, nigga f**k you

Nigga get off, this shit is wacked
f**k that, I bust you in the can with a motherf**kin' propajack
Spit on ya, shit on ya when I get on your pissil
You're goin' up and your f**kin' 'cos I ain't lovin' none of ya

And even the female rappers are gettin' smacked
Stabbed in the titties and kicked in the back
'Cos I'm a Westside Connection hista
Bored from a lover dishin' nothin' but foolers and dirty rubbers

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.
'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.
'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.

In about four seconds, a killa will begin to speak

Now you can cross out the busters and snitches
B-Real and Miss Muggs is like Hollywood bitches
From the niggas I know in the streets I run through
Swear to God bitch, real it ain't one dog and nobody

So watch what you say,who ya talkin' 'bout,ya tweakin'
And keep hogs out'cha mouth when ya bitch a*s is speakin'
I'm sick wit it, cappin' cha dome till I hit it
This Westside Connection, Cypress know they can't f**k with it

Use to get kisses and hugs, now I'm servin' ya slugs
f**k B-Real and Muggs, y'all niggas ain't no f**kin' thugs
Be all surprised, everybody dies
From Columbian neckties covered with fright

Ya f**kin maggots, ya f**kin' faggots
I shoulda hurt you, every motherf**ker that I know wanna hurt you
So when I pull my spray-can to spray
I'm sprayin' C H K all motherf**kin' day

I once knew this bitch by the name of Q-Tip
Who claim he had a problem with this gangsta shit
Behind closed doors, runnin' his mouth like a trick-in
Till this nigga 'bout the name of Dove caught him slippin'

Tied his a*s up and threw him in the truck
Put an apple in his mouth and dug his a*s out
I [Incomprehensible] lead him then down his body stashed
In a trash bag with a cue-cover in his a*s

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.
'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.
'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K
Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A.

Don't go chasin' waterfalls
Stick to them d**ks and balls you're used to
Punk a*s motherf**kers

Send Cross 'Em Out And Put A 'K Ringtone to your Cell