Lyrics Love It - Z-Ro feat. Lil' Flea of Street Military
Uh...
You
can't
assassinate
my
character,
unless
you
bring
them
big
guns
May
have
made
a
mockery
of
men
before
me,
but
not
this
one
It's
gon'
stop
here,
murder
24/7
around
the
clock
here
Dropping
music
is
cool,
but
I'ma
make
a
body
drop
here
Stupid
don't
bring
a
glock
here,
better
bring
a
bazooka
Cause
lil'
chil'ren
ain't
coming
out
to
play,
they
coming
to
shoot
ya
This
is
where
I'm
from,
even
the
dope
fiends'll
touch
ya
I
represent
Missouri
City,
now
how
could
I
be
a
buster
Even
when
it's
a
sunny
day,
I
rain
on
parades
An
angel
of
death
in
bulgari
glasses,
and
a
taper
fade
Dickie
top
Dickie
bottom,
and
some
house
shoes
This
is
what
I'm
wearing,
when
I'm
coming
to
bring
the
woman
up
out
you
I'm
making
me
a
list,
and
I'm
checking
it
twice
With
my
AK,
plus
the
banana
clip
I'm
Santa
tonight
But
when
I'm
coming
down
your
chimney,
ain't
dropping
off
I'm
taking
Bet
I
make
more
than
the
news,
this
is
history
in
the
making
I'ma
walk
it
like
I
talk
it,
whether
private
or
in
public
mayn
My
life
is
my
bidness,
if
you
ain't
God
you
can't
touch
it
mayne
I
ain't
worried
about
being
a
underdog,
I
love
it
mayn
My
attitude
is
fuck
it,
and
motherfuckers
love
it
I'm
nothing
else
but
a
G
pedigree,
bulldog
gutter
breed
Ridgemont
M.O.C.,
till
them
hoes
cover
Flea
23's
in
the
T
plack,
if
I'm
looking
for
my
enemies
strapped
You
fin
to
see
a
jack
A
trap
for
a
rat,
a
corner
for
this
crack
Dope
fiends
we
in
a
act,
so
paper
I'm
fin
to
stack
You
looking
for
them
real
O.G.'s,
my
niggaz
that
Cause
real
G's
stay
low
key,
and
roll
strapped
Street
on
the
map,
the
heat
in
my
lap
If
you
move
I'ma
snap,
hoe
you
smooth
on
your
back
My
dogs
don't
play
by
rules,
you
do
the
math
I
keep
it
one
hundred,
for
niggaz
that
can't
add
Your
present
is
your
past,
you
niggaz
done
forgot
where
you
came
from
And
I
ain't
gon',
help
you
find
your
way
back
I
call
it
like
I
see
it,
on
some
real
shit
And
I
can
tell
you
what
it
is,
cause
I
live
this
nigga
I
remember
when
the
radio
station,
didn't
wanna
play
me
Now
every
Thursday
through
Saturday,
somebody
club
pay
me
They
telling
J.
Prince,
I
don't
handle
my
bidness
and
I'm
lazy
Twenty
albums
in
nine
years,
they
smoking
and
they
crazy
I'm
charging
ten
thousand
a
show,
that's
120
a
month
Well
over
one
million
every
3-65,
yeah
that's
what's
up
I'm
claiming
King
of
the
Ghetto
Entertainment,
cause
I'm
down
with
me
When
I
die,
that's
the
label
I'm
taking
in
the
ground
with
me
I
keep
them
automatic
rounds
with
me
I
don't
need
security,
I
hope
somebody
get
out
of
line
and
clown
with
me
You
don't
wanna
see
me,
with
my
forehead
bald
up
Cause
that's
when
the
police,
and
ambulances
get
called
up
Let
it
be
somebody
I
never
met,
even
a
relative
Forgive
me
for
sinning
Jesus,
you
know
I
ain't
gon'
let
em
live
Asshole,
I'm
the
walking
definition
of
it
Cause
my
attitude
is
fuck
it,
and
motherfuckers
love
it
bitch
Haha,
King
of
the
Ghetto
Entertainment
Slash
Rap-A-Lot
Records,
Z-Ro
the
Crooked
Z-Ro
the
motherfucking
Mo
City
Don
And
I'm
fucking
with
my
hood
nigga,
Lil'
Flea
The
boss
dog,
he
representing
Street
motherfucking
Military
That's
right
nigga,
free
Pharaoh
nigga
R.I.P.
Butterboy
huh
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