"You could get the finger.. the middle!"
"Come and get some!"
Ahh yeah, they love to point the finger
Boom boom boom on your black ass, bitch
Niggaz love to point the finga
Boom boom boom on your black ass, bitch
I thought I hit rock bottom, they ban my album, point the finga
I guess nobody loves a real nigga-slash-rap singer
I thought Id bring a little truth to the young troops
I brought proof that the niggaz need guns too
Its not to be a racist, but lets face this:
wouldnt you if we could trade places?
I got lynched by some crooked cops, and to this day
them same motherfuckers on the beat gettin major paid
But when I get my check they takin tax out
So, we payin for these pigs to knock the blacks out
Aint that a bitch, some officers are gettin rich
Whoopin on thugs and robbin drug dealers for they shit
As far as jealousy, bein 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 or theyll be on ya til a niggaz ghost
And everyday I read the paper theres another lie
They show my picture for the crimes of another guy
Now hows that for the life of a big shot
A dead cop, a law suit, a little kid shot
I play them nuttin ass marks in the park
for tryin to earn they stripes in the dark
Just cause I come there, dont mean I from there, peep:
only jealous motherfuckers beef, and point the finga
Boom boom boom on your black ass, bitch
As I run up on em madman, a nutcase with a screw loose
A zoot troupe full of foolies with toolies
Niggaz run to me dont come to me with beef
Take your jewels and your jeep, boom boom! Let that ass sleep
Its gettin hectic, niggaz run, quick
Buckshots are the payback for dumb shit
All you niggaz on the block tryin to test me
Best wear a vest or get open like, sesame
Ill run up on you mad deep; while youre tryin to sleep
Im steady pumpin bullets in your sheets
Wake up, motherfucker, dont stutter
Point blank by a nigga from the gutter, yeah!
Gimme mine, gimme mine, gimme, mine
Ban my rhymes, now Im back to bustin, nines
And bustaz cant get none, hell no
A quick flurry and hes buried with a swelled jaw
I came up from the amateurs to pro hits
at 5-0, so you know I take no shit
And everybody wants to kill a bringer
of bad news, so they choose, to point the finga
One two three, peace to the real Gs
Still me, til these motherfuckers kill me
I bring skills and I build, kill at will
Smoke sess til Im ill, still feel me?
I say one two three, peace to the real Gs
Still me, til these motherfuckers kill me
Pick it up, pick it up, give it up
Best to duck or get fucked for your bucks
Scream one two three, peace to the real Gs
Still me, til these motherfuckers kill me
I cant give up, its a black thang
And I aint goin back to the crack game
(You can do it son; be a man and stand up or run)
Bitches, let em point the finga
(You can do it son; be a man and stand up or run)
Snitches, let em point the finga
Yo, one two three, peace to the real Gs
Still me, til these motherfuckers kill me
I guess nobody loves a rap singer
Thats why these motherfuckers.. (hahaha!) point the finga
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