Killas lyrics - Lil Jon (feat. The Game, Elephant Man, Ice Cube, Whole Wheat Bread)

C'mon!

Elephant Man!

(It's gonna be a massacre)

Lil Jon!

[?]

Ice Cube!

We got The Game! (Game)

(Dem think we are playing)

[?]

(Hey, hey!)

You fuckin' with some killas (Bullets)

You fuckin' with the motherfuckin' realist niggas

You fuckin' with some killas (Killas)

You fuckin' with the motherfuckin' realist niggas (Hey)

I wish a motherfucker would say something

Fuck around and get your goddamn ass whooped

Nigga I feel like startin' some shit

And I might just snap the piss, out a pussy ass nigga like you, nigga fuck ya

Take a 45 cross the head gun butt ya (yeah!)

Ya'll pussy-ass niggas ain't hard

Stomp that ass out like a million man march

Sawed off shotgun hand on the pump

Finger on the trigga, I'm ready to dump

Blow a motherfucker, bye bye

Point blank range, yeah niggas gon' die ([?])

That's why I never leave the crib without packing my gat

Strap on my vest, put on my hat

Motherfuckers outta line gettin' laid down flat

Imma show you how a real nigga act

[?]

(Hey, hey!)

You fuckin' with some killas (Bullets)

You fuckin' with the motherfuckin' realist niggas

You fuckin' with some killas

You fuckin' with the motherfuckin' realist niggas

It's 3, the hard way

Black Lambo, no passengers

Black Ski mask, chain saw massacre

Cube pass me the AK-47 (Come on)

(Blacka) Yellow tape the intersection

Loaded clips, lock 'em in

Got a black 45, call it Pac's revenge

I'm a motherfuckin' animal

Lil Jon beat cannibal

Every nigga in Atlanta know

I'm psycho insane about my cash

They can re-open Alcatraz

And sentence me the life without rehabilitation

Fuck Governor Schwarzenegger, nigga it's my statement

Dear Mr. President Barack Obama, right after you catch Osama

Tell Mr. Waso, please let Oprah know (Oprah know)

That I won't ever stop sayin' bitch and ho

[?]

(Hey, hey!)

You fuckin' with some killas (Bullets)

You fuckin' with the motherfuckin' realist niggas

You fuckin' with some killas (Come on)

You fuckin' with the motherfuckin' realist niggas

We run A-Town, we run LA (Show em')

Now get down on your motherfuckin' belly

Before this AK make you do a ballet

It's the nut cracker, I'm the linebacker

Three motherfuckers, hard as concrete

Y'all motherfuckers soft as Gandhi

Pull that thing out, now you a zombie

All damn quick you know where I be

West side rolling, all day, everyday

Got your bitch open, you're fucking with heavyweights

Like, weights stay on my space

And stay the fuck outta my face ([?])

Ghostwriters I'm on ya'

From Atlanta, Georgia to California

This shit can't go no longer

And when I catch ya, I'm a-don ya

[?]

(Hey, hey!)

You fuckin' with some killas (Bullets)

You fuckin' with the motherfuckin' realist niggas

You fuckin' with some killas

You fuckin' with the motherfuckin' realist niggas