Look Out - Blaze Ya Dead Homie

I hear a siren you know what that means, the boys in blue is on the way.

and people duckin in and out to find a safe place to hideout, but not me i’m

standin in full view of the street steady waitin on the police, thankin them

for catchin me their attempts to trap me are useless, and the army of dead i

command are forma ruthless

(and your S.W.A.T team with snipers on every roof top scopin)

And the team leader barkin out orders to throw the smoke in

You knoe that you gonna bump it like aaliyah said im 1 in a million and

sometimes you can’t comprehend the shit i’m feelin

(but thats ok, i’m reloadin)

And fully prepared to bust ya skull open.

got you stripped down like a bitch at

the bar searchin fo tips.

all be dis got the shakes cuz you can’t afford a hit.

i’m a G in every sense of the word so my game is soldier so i match the motha

f**kin pigs like a jelly donut

Look out the police is comin, got me runnin through the crack house bustin and

runnin

(get in)

Look out, cuz i dont wanna get sprayed ya better lay it down fo yo ass get

destroyed

(i gotta blunt in my right hand a gun in my left takin shots at the cops either

jail or death im already dead you can’t kill me and i ain’t goin to the pen,

bitches come run me)

I jumped in the caddy on the way to the dope house, i see the red and blue

hold-up time out who they f**kin wit, im a g wit a trunk full of dope and heavy

artillery

(pull your vehicle to the side of the road)

Oh yall think im playin well ya’ll just don know better run the plate check who

you f**kin wit or get found on the sidea the road in a ditch, east side bitch

boy what the f**k you thought quit f**kin wit these killas we’ll blow ya head

off we some hustlas tryna get rich quick.

get money wit the boss and comp for

old shit.

motha f**ka for real i’m just lettin you know, f**k wit a dead man

its yo funeral.

so when you pull up on a g wit a hatchet in the window take yo

ass to the coffee shop bitch ass po po

Why you still followin me i get w2 to pay my taxes you gonna make a motha f**ka

have some relapses.

th red, white, and blues have been known to set me off and

you about to fall victim to the molatov (cocktail).

the smell is foul and

overwhelming of you burnin in ya cruiser and ya lights is meltin,

why can’t i be dead, have a bitch, and enjoy dealin without one a yall motha

f**kas botherin me, callin me a sinner, but i’m not im the dead body from the

block.

and ain’t nobody on there pushin rocks.

i’m a grown up but not in the

sense that you accustom, i graduate from the 22's to the 9's that im bustin.

at you i empty the clip on the cops who testin and leave em lyin dead in the

intersection.

you want beef you got it homeboy its what im servin,

take the safety off your gun cuz i know that your nervous

(look out)

(look out)

(i gotta blunt in my right hand a gun in my left takin shots at the cops either

jail or death im already dead you can’t kill me and i ain’t goin to the pen,

bitches come run me