Hate in Yo Blood lyrics

(*talking*)
Yeah it's gutter n*gga, Fat Rat Wit Da Cheeze n*gga
Southwest n*gga, Screwed Up Click n*gga whoa

[Lil' O]
This is mean rap, hop out of the Houptie burn a n*gga flee the scene rap
Chop a n*gga head off with, call it guillotine rap
Motherf*ck you pus*y, if you ain't about your green stacks
Lil' O's a hustler, what
This is for my n*ggas, with the coedine in the cup
And my hustlers in the trap, moving rocks up on the cut
Money over b*tches n*gga, keep your money up
Motherf*ck a piece of pus*y, they bop when they see the truck
On 24's, n*gga I got plenty hoes
If you want a bunch of b*tches, n*gga get you plenty do'
They come with the territory, n*gga wanna hear a story
Bout how a real n*gga named O, came to glory
First thing first I got superdrive, dog I'm not your average dude
Lil' bro, I'm super live
Hopped out the Lac, on 4's like Super Fly
Play a n*gga like a hoe, I garuntee do or die you got me f*cked up
See me in the big Benz, getting sucked up
By a yellow hair under there, love to swallow nut
If I shoot or miss, then I'm gonna follow up
I got killas on the payroll, don't make me call 'em up
It is not a thang, come through popping thangs
Dog there's a price on your head, and I drop the change pus*y
No I'm not a joke, I'm not broke
Man I let the thang smoke, I'll leave ya dead like the Pope don't push me n*gga
[H.A.W.K.]
Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-fo'
That was the countdown, to some monstrous flow
You already know, I got monstrous do'
And the ice that I rock, got a monstrous glow
6-4 weighing, and a 2-84
And I throw a blow, that'll knock 'em all to the flo'
Remarkable, not your average dude
And I spit sh*t, that makes parpalegics screwed
All H.A.W.K. do, is make strategic moves
And the flames that I spit, are so hard to refuse
If you confuse, peep the context clues
Or was it like Larry Hughes, on my P's and Q's
I'm bolt to this screw, with a pair of pliers
And most of these rappers, are compulsive liars
Claiming they the best, since Hov' retired
They need to be comedians, like Richard Pryor
Show me the money, like Jerry McGuire
And I'll spit a flow, that set the booth on fire
You might of seen my posters, stickers and fliers
I'm the five-star general, of the Screw empire
You the type of n*gga, that's under required
Cause skills like mine, are really hard to acquire
Pouring up a deuce, it'll piece the pie-a
You just gotta admit it, the kid's on fire
[Big Pokey]
These other playas hurt, they be hugging my belly
And a n*gga tired of eating, peanut butter and jelly
I treat mic's like confeddi, clock punching is steady
Don't have to rap everyday, cause my Columbians is heavy
Go with it I'ma fade it, if the money is heavy
Bet the title too line 'em up, Hummers and Cheves
I like my money like lettuce n*gga, crispy and green
Conversation for a b*tch, make her p*ss in her jeans
A grown can't be chilling, with no chicken or teen
Even if she thick in the jeans, thick in between
Already found my queen, and she gave me a princess
Soon to be a n*gga bride, watch the backside slide
Watch the backside glide, when I'm working the three-wheel
Sensei Mob boss, M.O.B. real
Girl get your hair did, peticure and a refill
In the morning, I'ma check up on my n*gga and be real
For my n*ggas on lock, Black Magic D.Hill
Nonproof, Hard Plack, Erik and P. Real
n*gga need three shields, and a vest to put on
Go on and stunt, I got a clip that'll shoot for a month
Grinding, everything shining in the diamond
Tee-tiller, block in the wind like it's a limon
f*ck consignment, we ain't giving you sh*t
S.U.C. means suck my di*k, motherf*cker