On the 79 to Richmond.

Your crew all fools, no chancers, second rate interest, you look like your family practices incest, so as the beat slows and the music collides, remember to reconcile, an inch or a mile, the style? Wild.
I cross state borders racking and hording from Borders, so don't look me in the eye when it's obvious you cut corners.
Go cut your wrist or something, do us a favour, about to smoke some Hellburn kush, how's that for a fresh flavour?
But all things aside I came to bring the walking dead alive, all the while pepetuating mass genocide with cyanide laced verses and voodoo laced curses. You can't hurt this, or my squad, cos when we kick down ya door, poles and truncheons leave you more than sore.




"C4 TO YA DOOR NO BEEF NO MORE."
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