Camouflage & Murder lyrics

(*talking*)
Ay n*gga, ain't you Mac
What you doing in this motherf*cker

[Mac]
Camouflage n*gga what, you'll catch me in the cut
f*cking sh*t up for every n*gga, the bigger pig the bigger trigger
Cause my n*ggas, in the river
Stories about the Mac, will make 'em shiver
They prolly at they crib loading they techs, wondering who I'ma smoke next
Patrolling they set, Malcolm X n*gga
The New Orleans Jesus, pack a tre-deuce
And you can bring the drama to Zeus, if you heard about what that 3rd about
n*gga feel that, that fake sh*t we bout to kill that
On the for real black, I never show-boat
Be on the low, like a black sto' the Mac flow
Sorta like a cracked flo', a different plateau the Mac show
When I attack though, I never turn my back cause
The bullets, penetrate the back slow

(*talking*)
C-Murder (what n*gga), man number 187
(what's hap'n), oh you in on murder one
(f*cking right), get your sh*t boy you going upstate
(f*ck the world b*tch)
[C-Murder]
n*gga I'm C, motherf*cking Murder never scary
But it's very necessary, to leave my adversaries buried
Crack sales bring b*tches in lines, but I'm eternal
Lethal weapons stay c*cked, many n*ggas may drop
From the top like flies, I despise you hoes
With crooked smiles, make a n*gga wanna 'nap your child
n*ggas bleed, my enemies fearing attack
They move with silence, when n*gga bring the violence
Do they know, me and my soldiers tighter than glue
We pass b*tches and weed, my n*gga Mac planting seeds
Let the devil tell it, bailing making the scene
I whoop the n*gga ass in jail, he was a dope fiend
And no collect calls, ghetto pictures on the wall
You gotta crawl and fall, before you ball n*gga f*ck y'all
Around the way, my n*ggas feel what I'm spitting
It's Camouflage and Murder n*gga, so pay attention b*tch

(*talking*)
Curren$y, I hope you got currency
Cause your bail two million dollars, you understand that
You lil' rap mother-(hol-hol'-hol'-hol' up man
I got two million dollars cash, call Stan
I'm out this b*tch, you heard me)

[Curren$y]
What you gon do, when you get out of jail
Skerch off the scene, in a yellow ML
4-30, Benz truck
With four b*tches inside, who all about letting a dog and his friends f*ck
I'm too large, for haters
My n*ggas smoke bud tote guns, picture they all on paper
I'm talking bout n*ggas like Big, you know who
Ceedy, Wayne, Geezy f*ck it the whole crew
Uh we all roll with nines, and bout letting 'em fly
But I try to stay on the low, with mine
Catch lil' daddy slipping, point the 4-4 at his spine
Leave your body in the forest, where no one can find
And you boys, don't want none of that
I know n*ggas that look at jail time, like Summer camp holla back
(*talking*)
Yeah ya dank, ha-ha-ha