Ice-T: G style

Intro: Yeah! Right about now motherfuckers is layin for a nigga like me Ice-T to bust some freestyle shit... but I don't do that I just cold lounge up here at the Ammo Dump with my nigga Alladdin, SLJ, LP and my nigga Henry G Yeah, we do the shit like this Verse One: The card after the ace is deuce So cut the nigga loose on the 3 That's me The motherfuckin T I got ride on my surfboard Rhyme hard But only buy the shit that I can't afford That's everything That's why I truck big fat rings Cause in the motherland gold is for kings I got backup To jack up Punks who try to act up Do a world tour Watch the big bank stack up Motherfuckers get dropped with the quickness I got an ill left and a right fist Make mistakes and you'll lose Or you might die Cause I'm the wrong Ice for your bruise And that's no lie Meanwhile the penile is stacked to the top with my niggaz Mostly for squeezin triggas I call em homies Pigs call em crooks So I write and put bucks on they books I give a fuck about a cop or a G-man They all talk shit Their breath smellin like semen I catch em in the alley all alone Put em in the prone Pop! Pop! Pop! To the dome Chorus: It's the G-style Gangsta style Verse 2: G Style, The gangsta talk I got a teflon .9 And it eats vest I take a motherfucker out quick Just for talkin shit Ride Rolls Catch hoes like a mitt LA, Atlanta, New York Yo, my shit rocks Chi-town, Miami, Detroit I get much props Because I roll with the hardcore G Every street's the same street to me I don't bullshit I don't quit Writin a rhyme fit KKK pray each day That I get hit Motherfuckers try to flip on the Icepick Move and slip Close the eyes and catch a fuckin clip Not in the ghetto no more But I do hang Got a black game And it's sittin on them thangs I kick the game from the street Not the slamma Tighten up my knockas with a big lead hammer Chorus Verse Three: Some of the times I write my raps with extreme speed Some of the times I take the pen and make pads bleed My mind clicks to Homocide Bullets fly Ladies cry A lot of people die Some nights I can't right Stare at the blue lines I think I'm a go blind Then the beat becomes me Sit in the dark And write a whole fuckin LP G Style, the gangsta talk Never near soft Hard as a knockout bout It's no sellout I keep crime in my rhyme Cause it's my thing Packed with guns And drugs And lots of street slang A-B-C-D-E-F, and LAPD Words from a motherfuckin OG Ammo Dump pumps the sounds that you bump in your trunk So turn it up punk What'cha fraid of? What'cha made of? Pull the pin Set the grenade off Blastin sounds out ya jeep On every city street, nigga Straight gangsta beat Chorus Verse Four: Many like to dress the style, and act hardcore Many motherfuckers are and they crack jaws I like to lay in the cut In a nightclub Don't smoke bud Drink suds But I gets loved, mack, cool I scope the freak with the mad backs Hit her with the gangsta style Cool, relaxed, bam Put her in the Benz Bump Too , let her know Right off the top, what's my sport You think long You think wrong You got it goin on, baby doll? But I won't sing you no love song You either love me Or you don't You're either rollin tonight Or you won't She likes the style Cause it don't bullshit around Tounge in my ear, real slow And then it went down I gotta flip into a ill mode Pack a clip full of hype tracks And then unload Music for the hardcore beatdown No weak pop shit Strictly underground And if you don't like the style, as I get wreck Ease back nigga, catch a knife through the neck Chorus