Strike The Match

I’m loaded like a Shotgun. — Got one — under my coat!
It’s late night, no stage fright. — I'm going for broke
While I’m hittin' my smoke.
I’m contemplatin' how to hit 'em hard, hit 'em fast, get away; it’s all she
wrote!
It’s a heartbreaking habit, when you gotta have it
You grab it! — Stare at an album, so good at it!
Certified hood magic! — Look at it!
Throwin' too much in your face. — And money’s gone; so am I so long?
But now my hustle’s changed. — No more stickin' you up!
I’ve got some weed, I know that for sure; that can pick you up!
Just spark it up! I got a dime or a twenty sack!
All sales are final. — Don't ask for your money back!
Don’t even look at the money, stack! — It's funny that
It still wasn’t enough, I’m like still searchin' for honey flack!
No I’m servin' the boulders, looking over my shoulders!
Every step that I take — a rock might knock me over!
Strike — the match! — Sparks — the flame!
It starts — the fire that burns down the system!
Hit 'em hard! Hit 'em fast! — Keep the gas on 'em!
We’re gonna char! — Get the dogs, go gas on 'em!
The hoodrange — a brace to be a gangster
They grew up! — And blew up the rock stages!
A long way from the gate, but I got Gauges!
Dumb 'em out! Pullin guns out on strangers!
A bunch a wild niggas, nobody can tame us!
The sixteen in the clip. — One in the chamber!
Drive-by's, homicide; shit! I gotta roll a dime!
Every day I ran away, my life’s one Columbine.
And I’d like to see heads get
So it’s a problem? — That's how I solve 'em, there’s no discussion!
Go for my mind, tell it’s task force, rush 'em!
Until the day all I gotta say — is: «Fuck 'em! "
Post it on the top son! — Claw some!
Makin' my way throught the jungle, and then they like I call something!
hustle, the streets need
To a hit single, put down bitch, bring a leader!
When you’re in the top spot, you better be top notch;
Or not watch, the haters take pop shots!
It’s non-stop shit talkin', the conflict
Whoever slick talkin', I’m ready to harm him!
Disarm him! — Send his ass away in a coffin
My game is, you don’t seein' it that often!
But every day I felt time slip away
Like a heavy ticket on the train to an early grave!
I never worried hater, that what happens, I’m okay!
Reap what you sough! — And every kinda game you play
Never had a handout! — Had my hustle’s brand out!
brand out! You wish my luck would run out!