FMJ #2 Intro lyrics

[Intro: Smokey B + (Freddie Gibbs)]
Yeah b*tch, it's ya boy Freddie Gibbs
Mixtape volume 2
It's the illest n*gga in the G
This ya boy Smokey B
I'm back in this b*tch
The CEO n*gga
No Tamin' Entertainment
We puttin' sh*t down on the map b*tch
Go ahead spit that sh*t n*gga
Tell these n*ggas you hard as hell Freddie Gibbs (yeah, ugh, ugh)

[Verse 1: Freddie Gibbs]
Yo it's the Steel City stick up kid and I'm totin' that heavy metal
I hustle block to block and push it in every ghetto
All of my songs bang, cop a disc and play dat
I got the hood soldiers like chiefs and arabs
The game gets shook, wack rappers is terrified
Killin' all of my kids, this is lyrical genocide
I write a rap, spit a rap, and it ain't no sweat
Can't quit, I'm in too deep like, Omar Epps
They treat me like I killed Bishop cause I got mo' Juice
Than OJ in a bronco, lay it down pronto
I keep a bad b*tch cause my c*ck is mean
I'm about to get ya girl looser than a slot machine
Cha-ching, and I ain't even gotta trick no change
Spit no game, but I kicked yo' dame mane
My lyrics is blueprint for cash makin'
I do you greezy like fried bacon that's why you hatin', ugh
[Interlude: Smokey B]
Yeah you n*ggas see Freddie Gibbs everyday in the streets
Talkin' 'bout how you gon' murk that n*gga
Half you n*ggas ain't even got a muthaf*ckin' pistol
Talkin' 'bout you gon' kill a n*gga
Man I wish I would catch one of you n*ggas wit' a pistol tryna kill my cousin n*gga
On muthaf*ckin' [?] and I will murk one of you n*ggas
I'm a muthaf*ckin' [?] boy
I'm back in this b*tch like Mase, the CEO muthaf*ckas
Let's go

[Verse 2: Freddie Gibbs]
I ain't scared of gettin' murked
Got my number you call then I'mma checkout
Before it's all over, I empty the f*ckin' tec out
Them hollow point hydro shots will blow yo' chest out
Or hit you in the throat and blow the back of yo' neck out
When there's beef I ain't the one to sit in the crib
I'm outchea splittin' them wigs, call me General Gibbs
Raise yo' hand and salute fo' I aim and shoot
Knock you out yo' Timbaland boots and murda ya troops
So which one of you n*ggas really want it? Let it be known
Go ahead and call my name out in one of ya songs
At this point in time I ain't on some dissin' you back sh*t
I'm on some when I see you I'mma pull out the gat sh*t
That ridin' through ya neighborhood squeezin' the mac sh*t
That hit you with the K while you sit and relax sh*t
f*ck this rap sh*t, cause you n*ggas can't compete wit' me
Hit the streets wit' me, I bet you I got the heat wit' me, n*gga
[Outro: Smokey B]
Yeah, who got that heat b*tch?
Smokey B got that heat too n*gga
Anyone of you n*ggas run up you gon' get done up
n*gga I put that on all n*gga
I'm the next muthaf*cka in line
I'm 'bout to shut this sh*t down
n*gga, Finger Roll the coldest producer in Gary, Indiana b*tch
This the hottest sh*t out, I dare anyone of you n*ggas to say som'
I don't give a f*ck who ya is n*gga
I would say some names but half of you n*ggas ain't even worth dissin'
Ya punk muthaf*ckas, y'all ain't sh*t
Smokey B back b*tch