Marked For Death

Used to be from the set, but now yo' ass a mark
I knew you was a bitch from the very start
So I'ma check yo' ass on site, bomb to the eye
When you hit the concrete, pull the nine
And have the homies over that ass yellin' "Hoo-ride!"
Fuckin' with the psycho, fools die
'Cause when you fuck the hood, you fuck yo' family
And when we fuck you, we puttin' yo' ass in panties
Just like yo' trick-ass sister
Tag-teamin' with the whole damn hood, fuckin' diss her
But let me put my jimmy on
Before I bust yo' ass upside the head with the chrome
I just thought I'd let them know
That you went from one hood to the next just like a ho
Remember 29th Street, do or die G?
And look at you now, straight O-P
Come through my hood and get smacked with the booze bottle
Put the gauge into yo' chin and leave yo' head hollow
'Cause Lil' Bow don't play when it comes to checkin' a mark
Lock you in the trunk and let the nine bark
Then off into the river
'Cause that's how you roll as a bitch-made nigga
You never get dap without me pullin' the strap
And lightin' yo' ass up like a match
Little ho, you're fucked now, and go buck wild
Got yo' punk ass at the bottom of the pound
Beatin' you down, crackin' yo' fuckin' crown
And it's on for twenty-nine rounds
No remorse, as I crack yo' ass in the
Face with the forty and crazy horse
Put my foot in yo' ass so
Deep, I'm gettin' shit on my knees
And when you walk the yard, I'm pullin' yo' jacket
Face to face a nigga act like he want static
So I can take one, two, three, four
And leave yo' whole face swole, ho
You should've thought twice before you marked up, bitch
And I wouldn't have to buck shit
But then you sinned, 'cause once you win, you win, yep
And once you marked, you marked for death
It's the bald head nut
That got you four deep, fishtailin' in the cut
You got yo' gat under yo' lap, 'cause you don't wanna get jacked
And become a victim of the black
Crime, so you take a chance
Ridin' with yo' gat, and keepin' it close to yo' shootin' hand
But watch out for the police
'Cause they'll make you hit some blocks and toss a .380
And in '93, we can't have that
A gang of niggas full of the yaki goin' out to jack
Got the big gat, sportin' the black hat
Black Locs, black gloves, down for the jack
And if yo' windows is up, he got the window popper
Sometimes only fifteen jackin' with a chopper
And it don't make sense to run
Just get out yo' shit, or catch a few hot ones