[Intro]
Get into shit...
Uhh, Beatnuts, Chino XL c'mon
[Verse 1: Psycho Les]
For this collabo we pack more ammo than Rambo
Beatnuts, Chino for example
"Say Say," like Paul McCartney
I say, we ball in parties
Surprisin you and your guys and while you franchisin
Stuffin your face with french fries and
I sweep up and steal the show with no intention
It's real baby, no make-pretending (uhh)
I wanna see, every federal dollar (WHAT?)
You playin with my dough? The metal will hol-la
It's the measure, business before pleasure
That's why I keep my workers, under pressure
I went from jumping on trains with demos
To jumping on planes to limos
Guzzlin champagne with bimbos, champion style
The way my niggas pop bottles; finger pop models
We drop top autos, goin full throttle
Escape, c'mon... what?
[Hook: Chino XL]
Yo, yo, trigger finger don't fail me now
Catch a nigga without his security and lay his ass down
Trigger finger don't fail me now
It's the Latin gangsta shit that make you tuck in your chain and bounce
Trigger finger don't fail me now
Love it or hate it, we get the mamis naked when we come to your town
Trigger finger don't fail me now
Psycho Les, Chino, Juju will knock yo' ass out
[Verse 2: Chino XL]
Yo... yo, Sin Gutta welcome home baby, this one is for you
The Beatnuts and Chino is like a, first kid for Latins to worship
I hurt shit, the wordsmith, perfect to purchase
I'm merciless, leavin you toothless and verse-less, I'm poisonous (uh-huh)
Drinkin blood from a platinum Thermos, I'm murderous
And evil and diesel, my people from here to Puerto Rico
Chico, the nickname Chino
That's Hispanic as bein married in a yellow ruffled tuxedo
See no Spanish blood I'm standin in
Handlin verbal torpedoes over Spanish mandolins
I'll viciously herb you with verbal calm cool
My name come first in a sentence speakin on who shitted on who
Don't let it be you! (true!)
I'm really rude, hate Italy food, you get Kobe and Philly booed
Never shitty interviewed, every city in the view
Seen police nude, police presume from the barbecue blind dude
That I hit his mind up with a .9-Rug', gun blast make your spine move
Paralyze your face, Bell palsy
Have you lookin like Musiq Soulchild, far from hardcore
Line for line I never met a cat who could last
I'm feared like R. Kelly teachin kindergartner's class
Y'all, metaphors are meta-twos, you better get a better set of tools
Cling your genitals, watch your lyrical credentials
I'm an animal, destroy human life without caring
You get killed, like that plaid skirt Scottish men be wearing
Me disappearing don't even think - the closest thing
These rappers ever get to art is when their mind's drawin a blank
We revolvin in rank, you smiling coward you spiraling downward
Got you dancin through my firing bullets that showered
Shoot me in the head but, please try to aim
I'll be hotter than these rappers with just piece of a brain
From a wheelchair I'll still be priest of the game
Watch you tank like that skinny R&B singer's name, what!
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Sin Gutta]
Uh-huh... y-y-yeah Sin here baby, let's go, awoo, aiyyo
Aiyyo I'm known for shootin several gats, flip and pitching several packs
Been to Hell, made it back twice as strong
With a suntan and Satan's horns
Got charged with statutory for rapin songs, I'm bakin dawg
You even look at me wrong your face is gone
Every time you kiss your girl you tastin Shawn
You think your rhymes break the CD's and tapes they on
When you think a rap is kid, what they based it on?
I'm apes, spit it with grace, each take be raw
I'm one of the best and you can see that through a brick wall
And the looks and hand skills are reason to hate more
I break laws, you'll prolly tat tears
I'm harder than Fat Joe breathin after walkin up a flight of stairs
You should be scared, boy to reach us for heaters
To say it is needless, and my trigger finger won't fail me
Unlike my 9th grade teachers, dig?
