You could get the finger
Come and get some!!
The middle
Aaaww yeah!
They love to point the finger
Boom!Boom!Boom! on your black ass, bitch
-Chorus repeats-
I thought I hit rock bottom,
Then my album point the finger
I guess nobody loves a real nigga-slash-rap singer
I thought I'd bring a little truth to the young troops
I brought proof that the niggas need guns too
It's not to be a racist, but let's face this
Wouldn't you if we could trace places
I got lynch spots from the cops
And till this day, the same motha fucka on the beats gettin major pay
But whenI get my techa-techa techs out
So, we prayin for these pigs to knock the blacks out
Ain't that a bitch
Some officers'll get rich
Whoopin on thugs and robbin drug dealers for their shit
As far as jealousy, being a celebrity,
No matter who committed the crime, they all yell at me
And the media is greedier than most
You could sell em your soul and they'll be on ya till a nigga's a ghost
And everyday I read the paper, there's another lie
They show my picture for the crimes of another guy Now how's that for the life of a big shot
A dead cop, a law suit, a little kid shot
I play them funky ass marks in the park
By tryin to earn their stripes in the dark
Just cuz I come here, don't mean I from here
Peep
Only jealous motha fucka beef
Point the finger
-Chorus repeats-
As I run up on a mad man, a nut case with a screw loose
A zoot troupe full of foolies with toolies
Niggas run to me
Don't come to me with beef
Take your jewels and your jeep
Boom! Boom!, let that ass sleep
It's gettin hectic
Niggas run quick
Buckshots are the payback for dumb shit
All you niggas on the block tryin to test me,
Best wear a vest so I could open like I'm sesame
I'll run up on your man deep
While your tryin to sleep, I'm steady pumpin bullets in your sheets
Wake up
Motha fucka, don't stutter
Point blank by a nigga from the gutter
Yeah
Give me mine, give me mine, give me mine
Made my rhyms, now I'm back here bustin 9's
And brothas can't get none Hell no
A quick fury and he's bury with a swell jaw
I came in from the amateaurs to pro hits
And 5-0, so you know I take no shit
And everybody wants to kill a bringer
I'm bad news so they choose,
To point the finger
-Chorus repeats-
1,2,3
Peace to the real Gs
Stay mean till these motha fuckas kill me
I bring skills and I been killin wills
Smokin sess till I'm ill
Still feel me?
I say 1,2,3
Peace to the real Gs
Still mean till these motha fuckas kill me
Pick it up, pick it up, give it up
Best to duck or get fucked for bucks
Scream 1,2,3
Peace to the real Gs
Still mean till these motha fuckas kill me
I can't give up
It's a rap thang
And I ain't goin back to the crack game
You can do it son
Be a man and stand up or run
Bitches, let em point the finger
You can do it son
Be a man and stand up or run
Snitches, let em point the finger
Yo, 1,2,3
Peace to the real Gs
Still mean till these motha fuckas kill me
I guess nobody loves a rap singer
That's why these motha fuckas point the finger
-Chorus repeats-