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Mobb Deep » Hurt Niggas
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	Verse 1: ( Prodigy ) I'll noose ya'll, and push ya'll off the edge I'm like Ray Benzino 'cause how I hang men I got a big caliber gun inside of my Timb so I can explode on any mothafucka that grin trust me, it's not like that, it's not what you thought you'll be like "P shot me and bounced in the Porsche" on some real live Mobb shit, Columbo, the Cappo I pop niggas, leave the gun right there, I got gloves stop niggas from frontin', leave 'em real fucked up I drop niggas thats runnin', shoot 'em in they back dun coward ass nigga poppin' all that shit and when them things popped out you on some Michael Johnson shit fuck that, hammer that nigga to the earth wanna cross me? you niggas gotta pay that toll first and I got change for all that million dollar shit and these slugs 'll be the only reason niggas be hollarin'. Chorus (Havoc, P, and Noyd) Turn this shit up, pump this shit up, DJ mothafuckas burn this shit up, we hurt niggas Twirl that shit up, burn that shit up, don't make me have the Nine spit up, I gives a fid-uck, I hurt niggas Verse 2: (Havoc) I'm tired of tellin' niggas how the fuck I feel you know the steel 'll put them niggas to sleep like Benedryl these trash ass rappers and they faggot ass friends talkin' like the bitches, walk around like they Men niggas like ya'll don't get no respect this is Hav', I die once, ya'll niggas die a Thousand deaths cowards, you tryin' too hard to be 'bout it you know them niggas that be fake be the ones to shout it (Holla!) talkin' this and that, but check turn around and get robbed in they own projects might as well be rappin' on stage for them bitches be baggin' you, 'cause you the one feminine the sound of these guns got 'em shook, it's a rap you could see the yellow stripe runnin' clear down they back and let a nigga find out where you live at and then blow that mothafuckin' piece of shit off the map. Verse 3 (Prodigy) Whattup son, dun, surprise nigga, thats how we pop up on 'em you off point you die in your sleep, thats the moral nigga, you know we get our contraban in smokin' that dangerous, you know we got bangers you know I'm dead real, I don't know what you was thinkin' I'm all over the street, you better stay creepin' I shoot niggas fair ones, I'll box you dun you'll be six feet in that dirt, I'll stop your run. Chorus
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