Shyheim
The Lost Generation
Real Bad Boys
[Shyheim]
Yo, 1995
Chorus: (2x)
Screw on the silencers, screw on the silencers
Cause real bad boys move in silence
I stash butterfly knives and .45's in my garments
Fuck nigga, I take a pussy god quick
Peep my stee in the street well respected
Like the rectomatic dime bags of the Method, Zee
Bomb on heads like what kid
I keep em on slow mo son I'm the champion
Yeah boy don't run
I make it death fun when I kill ya
I take a power driller and drill it right through your liver (ha ha ha)
I'm ruthless possessed by the devil
Fuck fire paw, I'm on a whole nother level
The mess tablets make ya mind flick
My murderous styles I kick make female groupies lick the dick
Word to the mother, I put this on tour wicked
The first that starts fakin, I'ma lace em and dislocate em
Real niggaz do real things youknowhatImean?
The first that fake the gangsta lean get thrown in the fiend
Killa Kane where you at?
G.P. be packin gats, runnin, nah son it won't be none of that
The clips who fat plus long
I love doin wrong plus killin coppers is my favorite song (fuck the police)
Chorus (4x)
I roll with criminals, cold blooded murderers
Drug hustlers, suburban areas I know ya heard of us
Big up big up! to my niggaz in the bricks
Bad boys do stings on the hush-hush tip
I brush your shit quick phony G's won't call
I make it happen like God, test me if ya wanna die Lord
I wear black to keep my I.D. on the low
I'm all about makin dough at a fast tempo
Fuck shootin up shit that only makes the spot hot
And we don't need the bullshot, blast the blood clot
Say what! (Word!) Word is bond? (Word is bond!)
Load the gats up son cause once again it's on
Niggaz must be thinkin that I'm sweet or somethin
I ain't frontin, word to life I murder somethin
Ha ha ha, fuck y'all crab niggas
Bring it to me
Word up
Chorus (4x)
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