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Brotha Lynch Hung » One Mo Pound
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	I was rollin' through the hood one day Thought shit den calmed down, "Gang-bangin'" den played out by the years since I den been around Ain't talked to nobody from my block Cause all my niggas is locked up And it's been all ever I seen wit a guillotine So I was in the "Cut Supreme" Fifteen grams and some "greenodine" Ain't seen a block nigga since But now I'm off that kill green (Mothtafuckas ain't got no love for me) (Niggas wanna put some slugs in me) So I'm double 0 seven, murder redrum wit my three fifty seven Brotha Lynch Hung, but the bitches call me Kevin They try to make me think they close to me, but Neb'in [never] You know I gots to (say high) stay high, keep recipts for alibis And the meat they ate from them drive-bys ain't mine cause mine's a supe' desguise As I swoop the skies high off that buddha tah mixed the cusche and the purple hairs And it got me high (Now I'm rollin on the river) Labeled Mr. FedEx (Cause them bodies I deliver) Got to get to my next plot Unlock the freezer get the meat for the "rocks" [rotweilers] And heat the heat cause it's the "nine-neb'in" ['97] and it's hot den a mothafucka (All day everyday) I'mma stay loaded up, "krondike" in the trunk And a pound full of James Brown Cause I gots to get loaded so hold up soldier (Chorus: 2x) The count goes (One more pound of smoke and it's guaranteed to make a mothafucka choke) (Ain't got no down ass bitch at my side but I got some bomb ass weed in my ride) Nothin but notches, booches Fill my pockets, hit 'em up everyday, gotta have my pay The gaungay got me high now I'm paranoida den these booches Filthy rich, I'mma take the loot And the dig a ditch, tell your neighborhood bitch to miss me with that hoe shit Cause I'mma get this nigga when he surface And that's on everything I love, I gots to split his wig Opened up the little blue packet, stung him like a yellow-jacket Rib cage heavily padded, hit him with the automatic shells Send him to hell express from his mailing address We got his name, for sho', then we went to the house and did that shit I know I said I do it alone in the pass, everybody in the neighborhood knew somebody betta jack his ass up like a six-four impala You floatin' on dirty water Pack your shit up nigga like it's on only you and your ?woda-goda? Track your ass down, smoke your last pound (Chorus 2x) (If you smell any smoke it's just me and my homies gettin' blown) And I was late gettin' home, intoxicated Fight with my old lady she was comin at unreal, hit the blunt and now she's animated Motivate through you like a foggy mist You can hold me in your chest-plate like that nitro hit First Degree told me if the weed can toss It'll talk some shit, gotta get me an underspot make me a Hemp Museum like B-Legit I'm tryin to bump my head on the moon Live so high up in the mountains eatin' snake meat, fried raccoons With a attitude I need food to eat up smoke a fat blunt on my couch with my feet up Top notch program, DOS mode indo 95 upgrade siccmade Stay paid til the day on the ground, I'mma lay, I'mma stay loaded up In my trunk I got the blow you up and it'll blow you up And the count goes [Brotha Lynch Hung sends out shout outs til the end]
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