[ShaCronz:]
Call my the black Bronson, Cronz smoke hemp like Jack Johnson
When it beat my peep's heat clap constant
In the streets name spread like my reputation
I bet you hatin, die for respect, seconds you wasted
Godfather mc's to be a robber to mc's
Nowadays coward snitches so I don't bother mc's
Surrounded by drama parada bitches
Got a Cron Dada, blanks out, spit by Lamas with this production
Got hoes suckin dick
I flow reluctant if you got dough then show somethin
Fouls don't let him hold somethin, quick
Keep it funky, like sweaty draws, roll with steady force
Once the heat in his face, barely pause
Ready for war, especially on tour
May sure enemies that threat will be no more
I peer act of Emmy, chicks'll sex a female whore
Live television, fuck the D's, we flee no more
[Chorus: Free Murda]
You think you got it sewn up
Nigga don't get your hopes up
Everybody wanna blow up
Shit slowed up, since the cold Christ rose up
Stressin niggas, smoke up, get the dough up
(Nigga, it's a hold up)
[Free Murda:]
It's either freedom or death, kill or be killed
Either you murder or get murdered
Any sweet streets, that's real
I roll thorough with snake eyes in the 'ville
That'll eat your food with no problem
It leave a bad taste in your mouth
Like No Frills, foes that squeal, get fold in their grill
Yo, stick the dolja, holdin in crills
Sad the way they growin up so they blaimin their fathers
Niggas that was your hand, that was blazin revolvers
You scared of Brooklyn? Like that old baseball team
You a Brooklyn Dodger, Crooklyn dumb-dumb launcher
Don Juan, you don't bother
Never ice grill, ice on my chain give me chills
Long pants, no creases, with a low shirt
I know you heard about my Cali
No dirt, fools untook your tally
Fools done took a wiz
Now you got no work, couldn't never bend me
A nigga like me when no skirt
Have you Die Hard like Bruce Willis
What I mean is you die slow from the hands of true killers
Know these two villains, Lil' Free and Cron Gotti
Don like John Gotti, with a chrome long shotty
[Chorus x2]
[ShaCronz:]
It's a hold up, who want it? I'm nothin nice, duke I slice you
High dude, roll dice and heist schools, in night schools
Turn pigs to ground hogs, my hound dogs surround the streets
Rob with four-pound and easy, loungin speach
Real niggas put it down in the east, control towns with heat
Hard to be found, I creap, FT, the B'ville, the privacy
We kill MC's, grab the keys, sail away
I could drive ease, blowin tropic trees, monopoly rise
Probably nothin stoppin me from coppin three-fives
I thought I told y'all, when I first came out
Game clout, Fort Greene soldier, crush your dame out
Ya didn't believe the rumor, until ya herse came out
They found your head with your brain out, dead, lookin drained out
You got burnt, caught spittin my name out
Caught you in the same house, bubblin
Gain stealth in this game, I got to let my pain out
To torch you, smoke herb to get this strain out
We lost troops, egoist, freeze, hold risk
Cronz need no bitch, at the Cee-Lo split
I keep your chips all, Free toast it
[Free Murda:]
Always squeeze and bust your gun, Lil' Free trust no one
Chain down to my dick, that's frozen
Bust city nigga, fuck what he holdin
Leave your brain roastin, like dollars you foldin
U.K., I wet your ass up like coldcuts
I roll with don niggas that rock kicks like sho nuff
ENT's will get your ass tore up
If hollow tips don't make you slow up
Got dum-dum's that blow up
Now you swoll up, already know where the snitch at
Fool you wanna chit-chat, fuck around and get clapped
Felt your eyes pitch black, from all the gun buttin
Keep my guns bustin, high one touchin
Yo' ass from big guns that's rushin
This little nigga have your son runnin
This gangsta killa, bang me, my dogs'll bang the killa
Shots ring, blood stain on your Range killa
Triple low for show though, gangsta, run in my jeans
Pack a auto-shotty, pull my leg to run in my jeans
Like diarrhea, squeezin with tire heaters
That jam up, don't get your man amped up, throw shots
Up in this land truck until I catch other writers
Your dogs bark, but don't bite us
In the dark it's hard to fight us
You see the spark, what's the dawn fire?
You marked for death, this Don Juan's an all liar
Buddha Monk is a bit of a mystery to us. Their discography includes Unreleased Chambers, The Prophecy, Zu-Chronicles Vol. 2 (Like Father, Like Son) Zu-Chronicles, Vol. 1 Throwbacks and Zu-Chronicles Vol. 1 (Throwbacks). Their most popular genre is Hip-Hop.
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