[Intro: P.R. Terrorist]
Shake 'em down, Mathematics
[Chorus x2: P.R. Terrorist]
All you players, killers, dogs, wannabee thugs
In your body comin' soon is a wannabee slug
In this rap shit is real so I gotta really be bug
To show y'all fake motherfuckers love
You happy just to breathe oxygen
Ox and men, ox is friend
And the rest of them niggaz that's in the pen I'm standin' in
What's a thug? Fuckin' thug, y'all niggaz ain't really bug
When this shit hit the fan, y'all hope'll be thug
Out in the desert, rap wizard, stylistic
Check the statistics on my LP's
You see me on the streets, mark of the beast
.44 slugs rip through your fleece, they hold grease
Next tape, trapped on the Shao', there's no escape
No bridge, no boat, just a place for your throat
Surrounded by water, transmit the blood of manslaughter
This gold-diggin' bitch on my dick, I can't abort her
Plus it's cheaper, and the skins is deeper on her daughter
Splashin' 'em both, got it taped on camcorder
What it like, I be eatin' too much beats and rice
Rollin' dice, never thinkin' twice, shit is trife
Terrorizin', never surprisin' the mic device
Real niggaz give it up, fake niggaz they get it tooken
I'm on a long trip on my way to Central Bookin'
2 Heaterz that was found in my Jeep, Eastside of Crooklyn
When I hit the house, everybody's lookin'
At the Latino, who that? Dom PaChino
Killarmy rap style that's so raunchy
Test me, remember that Allah done blessed me
Even the Jakes tried fuckin' me up when they arrest me
Can't take my mind from me although you got my 9's from me
And know my seed that be growin' in my wiz tummy
O.T., makin' CREAM, dress bummy
Feds like niggaz who floss and flash money
But I'm low-key, bless you with a flow that's holy
Ain't dependin' on a record label to blow me
It's on me, Terra Iz Him: The LP
G.O.D., try seein', the light be set free
[Outro: P.R. Terrorist]
You ain't thugs
Come on.. [gunshots]
You wanna fuck with me!?!
Huh? [screaming and gunshots continue]
I'll kill all you motherfuckers!
That's all you got?
I'm Dom PaChino!
Come on! Let's go!
I'll fuckin' blow your head off!
Come on! Let's go!
See this? You boys are dead
And not just dead
Bring your boy Dallas, he fuckin' dead too
Gold-diggers, you tipped it
I ain't fuckin' do this!
We fuckin' grew up together!
You want a war with me?
You want a fuckin' war with me?!?!