H.C.P. lyrics

by

Three 6 Mafia


[Intro: DJ Paul]
Yeah, H.C.P. Defeat does not exist in this Camp
Do you hear me it's goin down
Yhe n*ggas who's sellin for real
Ya boys hurtin out there man
I see your sound scans we killin you baby
And we gon keep bringing this pain
And this motherf*ckin bump in your motherf*ckin speakers

[Verse 1: DJ Paul]
See I'm the number one killa for these b*tch ass n*ggas
Got guns got rope for a b*tch ass n*gga
Plastic bags, duck tape for a b*tch ass n*gga
Stolen cars, sellin hoes for a b*tch ass n*gga
S K's, double clips for a b*tch ass n*gga
40 cal. on the hip for a b*tch ass n*gga
Ridin Benz's shootin at you old b*tch ass n*gga
Hypnotize we allergic to a b*tch ass n*gga
n*ggas wanna talk sh*t you a kid to me
I'll f*ck you up, real dog, its some killas with me
In the end you won't see me, just wait for my calls
Ill ride by shoot your momma's house up and all
And leave a motherf*cker bleedin on the carpet
Walk right up to your bedroom window and don't stop it
n*gga you started, I won't when I brought you back
Momma dead in the Lexus, when you look back
[Verse 2: Crunchy Black]
Hold up my n*gga, this is danger you is facing
I'ma crank the f*ckin chain saw and cut you like Jason
Ain't wastin no time, I'ma go on head and let my Smith & Wesson
Gone shine my n*gga, yall be hatin
Ain't no hatin on me dog
Ima leave you layin in the motherf*ckin street dog
Now catch this heat yall, unlock it and release yall
I'm just tryin to keep some mutherf*ckin peace dog
Yall testin me

[Verse 3: Juicy J]
People always asking 'bout Project Pat
Did he get ten years or did his time go flat?
Well Ima tell you like this, its a baller battle
Try to prosecute a n*gga, probably taller than Shaq
Me and my brother been down, since the days a rap
Hangin out Cypress Garden tryin to sell the crack
Can't no money or no b*tch can relate to that
Through he good and the bad ima have his back
So ima tell you young n*ggas in the streets today
That be standing on the block, smoke chokin that hay
The Police, Prosecutors are the enemies
Dont get caught up in that cross yo decsion you make
If I could turn back the hands of time, I would
And tell my big brother the gun ain't no good
He got one strike, a felon, that stood
In front a white jury, they said: he was motherf*ckin' guilty
[Verse 4: Lord Infamous]
Its the heavyweight Championship of rap
Hope you did all your sit ups and ran your laps
Cause I'm ready for the whole damn twelve round battle
Throw a jab left, hook right, to the mouth
And I don't think your boys gonna help you this time
Cause you done f*cked around with the wrong damn kind
Gotta get up on my grind, got a box made of pine
Got a nine to your spine, yo I gotta get mine
With that in mind, yo for war, I am highly trained
Insane mane, and I got a very good aim
So bring yo bandaids and your pain killers
We four killer type of n*ggas
Best believe we leavin' you injured
Even worse then you had pictured
So get buck if you really think you want to
Best believe it's gonna come back and haunt you

[Verse 5: Lil Wyte]
Calls it quits when you talk cause you spoke my name
Gotta switch when you walk, lookin like you a dame
Lil Wyte, yeah I rocked it when I entered the game
Cause Ima hussler on my bumpin for my fortune and fame
And its a blessin, not a question, being part of this Camp
Learn a lessin from this blessin you can't f*ck with this Fam'
Youll come up missin when you glisten your lil wrist I'm not dissin
Until the center of attention, and your momma you listenin
And I'm the one bringing thunder to this sky you wonder
f*ck around wit a mugger and Ill then make you wonder
What happened to this little craker it was just marijuana
His shoes just got a little bigger, I just gonna warn you
That he was creepin from the slab, where the gat is packed
Pull a Cop killer bullets that'll pierce your back
I tried to save your soul and plus state the facts
But still b*tch made motherf*cker's get laid flat
[Verse 6: Frayser Boy]
Muthaf*cker c*ck sucker you don't want none of this
b*tch pull a trigger tell a n*gga f*ckin wit this sh*t
HCP best believe, bring the motherf*ckin pain
Clickin on you, hittin on you, we ain't playin no games
f*ck you off, we the boss, got the city on lock
Glock my side, time of ride, Got the sawed b*tch c*cked
Wit a n*gga makin moves, in this f*ckin rap sh*t
Trigger pull it, get a bullet, cause you know I'm strapped b*tch
Know a bunch of n*ggas some real, some fake, some hate, Some trake
So I get them b*tches out the way
Dont you test, be my guess, We gone bust the steal
n*gga one less, shoot less, tone to the head feel
n*gga what you wanna do dog
Bring the sh*t to the fan
Every stressin, got you goin down like quick sand
Frayser Boy, Rep of course, find me in the f*ckin Bay
Slangin work, doin dirt, quickin wit the AK
Pass the gat and lets ride
Lord is in your house best go hide
Crunchy gon smack you cross the head wit the Tone
Juicy the type n*gga you best leave lone
Paul ain't gone talk at all he gon blast
f*ckin wit this click you b*tch you won't last
Much love to my n*gga Pat and thats real
Lil Wyte reppin Bay with me don't get killed
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