Woorden: Godfather Don. The Nineties Sessions. Status.

[Verse 1:]
Intense experiments, provide intricate answers
Why I attack weakness like hip cancer
I sip lancers, to drink the pain away quicker
My game stay sicker than all you gay trickers
I spray niggas, like paint and eight illin
For the killin I pack clips that spit in the millions
For fillin ya needs, like 1-900 numbas
Pretty when I talk shitty, now did he wonda...
Am I the true or livin or clues are given
Crews are gettin waxed like wood floors, and they be slippin
Rippin up mics like ya ho [? ] is
No reasonin for the treasonin, all the stress
The bleedin of the flesh is imperial, for the
Serial killer, illa than David Koresh
Waitin the best out like nocturnal, I get ya
Like a sweat, I wetcha; and left you like a specta
Just to trace a [? ] nigga no lace
The coroner can't replace the holes in ya fuckin face
Chasin dreams like them kids from california
I [? ] on ya, I'm up on ya...

[Chorus: x2]
I'm in the mood to make moves and gain status
So let's see all emcees that be the baddest
I'm in the mood to make cash without the rocks
So let's see all real Gs who don't stop

[Verse 2:]
Peace to my nigs, upon bids, I warn kids
Of my addiction, to exterminate ya fiction
Beherets inherits slugs, when the asharons
Bashed upon n fits the gods like the wrath of don
Ya nervous, cause my word hits, yer in the cata...
Tonic, my raps are pondered like percentas up inna
So winna, follow the sinna, smoke beginnas
The winna of ya discontent's where I meant to send ya
The ends accumulate like kids in [? ]
I drop a lot, like diuretics to rock or not, I embed it
The subliminal from the criminal [? ] move heads
For the love, a jesus de christa
The mista cop that got torched spans the ages
In my third life, I blaze a lame, shame the sages
You don't know me, I'm faceless, so take this
And puff one; time for ya mind and find traces
Of bodies, battered and bruised, so crews do
The brew; bloodshed and conflict results so when I'm in the mood...

[Chorus x2]

[Verse 3:]
You got the mark of triple six, so I hit you quick
My script'll rip, any shit that ya nig'll flip
[? ]
No-names, plain, insane, [? ] a glock like kurt cobain
[? ]
Beneath the remains, I often see stains from games usin propane
From puttin fire unda rappas asses...
The masta passes; all herbs and nerds, I smash ya glasses
Lethal intent, from [? ], been debted
Buried from the flurries of hot lead, that was embedded
In swine's noses, fuck the days of wine and roses
Used to be my man, but check the threat my nine poses
From minds [? ] I suppose it's just the pressure
From hit squads, gunnin to get by, runnin ya shit's hard
And the jungle of concrete, the don peeps
[? ] dreams, and break 'em like pete [? ], that's my street scene
Mad depression, got my dreads swarmin the concession spot
Ya dead on 'em... now here's the warnin:

[Chorus x2]