*(J-Von)*

Now if ya all in wit me,

*(C-Loc)*

Come an get me wit some hin,

*(J-Von)*

An a fifty, an it stick it in,

*(C-Loc)*

Let this begin,

*(J-Von)*

Like 10 to the 9,

*(C-Loc)*

To the 5, 4, 3,

*(J-Von)*

They ain't knowin what this camp life means to meee!

Verse 1 *(Maxminelli)*

I'm still a hustla,
an we know this,
then you need to quote this on the front page,
true that,
never two,
on paper view,
wit the blunt blazed,
last time you heard us rhyme,
we came out tacklin po-po's,
now we surely stackin chips,
but we ain't packagin no doe,
see the ho-bos an fiends,
they can't get down wit the team,
oh yeah we bout cream,
but the colors, mostly green,
so brace yourself,
I'm a take yo wealth,
an leave you traumatized,
bonified hustla,
from out the backwoods of the country side.

Verse 2 *(J-Von)*

So so
Out Of Touch lyrics

Pick up the pieces.
Listen until it sinks in, or at least until you go crazy again.
Anything to show you understand.
The more you have a fit, the more I back away.
Tie those loose ends up.
The ones that you seemed to have cut.
Why don't you fucking go?
Why don't you show me how strong you are?
Hey, am I out of touch?
The things I do to keep your mouth shut.
I have watched mistakes th
uthside hustlaz throw yo hands in the air,
eastside, westside, northside dont care,
over there, over here,
(what?)
same thing everywhere you go,
it's real,
once they waited fo the,
bustaz that hear me know we,
even them guns,
an they ready to throw it,
I hope I see a nice night for bein this ghetto poet,
ya know it,
so it's like me,
I'm a play the game rough,
an like to tear sumpthin up,
sick shit nigga what?!

Chorus *(J-Von)*

Man fuck y'all niggaz,
man fuck y'all bitches,
we got the money an switches,
but ya can't get wit us,
cuz we the Sickess.

Man fuck y'all niggaz,
man fuck y'all bitches,
always runnin to get us,
but ya can't get wit us,
cuz we the Sickess.

Verse 3 *(C-Loc)*

Nigga I can say,
fuck 'em,
cuz they bustaz,
causin ruckus,
cuz they know they can't touch us,
got 'em hollerin "How ya do that there!",
when I bust 'em, can't tru
Insignificance lyrics

all in all, it's no one's fault
excuses turn to carbon walls
blame it all on chemical intercourse
the swallowed seeds of arrogance
breeding in the thoughts of ten thousand fools that fight irreverance
the full moon is dead skin
the one down here's wearing thin
so set are the ten pins as the human tide rolls in
like a ball that's spinning
bombs dropping down 
overhead, underground
st 'em
struggle fuck that,
hustle, slang crack,
the rhyme saw,
niggaz bust an get back,
I bust back,
no hidin, duckin hataz,
hollerin "Fuck 'em niggaz",
ain't nuttin,
now he rich an think a nigga can't touch him,
so now they bustin,
an me an my cuz OG,
an now these fools know they know me,
last time I spanked that ass they called the police,
ya gotta,
know when to hold on, (say what?)
know when to fold on, (uh-huh)
you better walk away, (boo-yow!)
before I make ya run,
son,
it's unheard, 
the way we went from slangin birds,
an droppin bodies on the curb,
to sellin words, 
platinum,
that's how it happened,
it's wicked when I kick it,
wicked,
if it ain't broke don't fix it,
clown,
cuz we the Sickess MUTHA FUCKA!

Chorus 

Verse 4 *(Young Bleed)*

Watch me spit the Sickess,
shit,
you ever heard,
an make a million niggaz witness, 
this,
fresh off 
Too Much Love lyrics




If I didn't forget you my heart would explode
Yeah, there is too much love
Yeah, way too much love
The last thing we need is to miss
The last thing we need is this
I will never regret you
It kills you to know
Yeah, there is too much love
Yeah, way too much love
The last thing we need is to miss
The last thing we need is this
Yeah, there is too much love
Yeah, way too m
the curb,
hollerin at ya in ya ears like this,
fuck what ya heard,
face to face wit confrontation my niggaz, 
ballz an my word,
now if ya ready let me know this real,
I'm hoppin out the vehil,
caddy fools bustin ta kill,
some is steady buggin fo nuthin,
lovin my life, keepin my head tight,
bailin the corner on two wheels,
mashin through red lights.

Verse 5 *(C-Loc)*

Where yo hood at, (what?)
throw it up,
the club,
yeah we tore it up,
soon as this clown get to buckin,
we gonna rush him,
must stop playin wit me,
if ya in wit me,
you'd a known,
I get spaced out,
they mace the place out,
then I'm gone,
in the Expo,
til the next show,
you never know,
what we got in stoe,
til the cap,
hit the doe,
hollerin if ya got the paper straight then the show must go on,
but when niggaz get to breakin shit,
it's time to go home.
(Ya heard me?)

Chorus