Raw Meat
Brotha Lynch Hung, Keak da Sneak
[Verse 1: Brotha Lynch Hung]
I might catch you with your pants down
Razor blade your Adam's apple
Oh it is a funky circumstance now cause it is 187
Got away with the loot
You was the homie that you know me
I had to shoot
'Cause you was the only one that knew
I ain't built for no 25 to life
See I'm a little nigga thinking big (big)
Making money of these gigs
If you try to stop that
On my momma you could get did
Yo momma looking at the casket like it is a baby in the crib
Nigga you said you never did no dirt
Feelings get hurt, murder expert
With almost too much Loot
If you there, you gotta die too
Too much shit going around
Niggas be telling and niggas be talking and walking
Solo I come
No radio, pager, walkie talkie, communication
I'm loving my murder sensation