[Intro: P.R. Terrorist]
Not enough liquor, man
Go to the L.Q. or somethin` man
This shit is crazy right here, yo
The fuck... Terrorist shit, bitch
Yo, yo, yo
[P.R. Terrorist]
Rap`s so vicious, attack tracks like bats on bitches
I`m sorry captain, but I be clappin` snitches
Bury a bastard in digits, rap for riches
Peel a cap back for my life, and my little misses
Big bushes from a seldom, seen dreams you choose to follow
Either it`s soul or the slugs, and his toast was hollow
They part team will follow, surround the enemy
And talk about the shit tomorrow, while I`m loadin` my cargo
Stamp the barcode, on the CD`s and ship `em out lovely
Before the bootleggers try and dub me
Came a long way from nothin`, and I still got a long way
Who would of thought some day, would of been makin` music
Could of been all up in your pockets, rock it to your eye socket
Don`t knock it, please tell your man, don`t cock it
Chances is slim, nigga take a glance at your kin
I`m countin` one -- any more seconds is the end
[Chorus: P.R. Terrorist]
I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) (8X)
When I find out I`m gon` make them feel the pain
[P.R. Terrorist]
I`m on the block like any man
The difference between and you, is I understand
You askin` questions, `what`s that shit up in my hand`
Answer the questions, I fry that shit up in your pan, bitch-nigga
Understand, I`m the P.R.T., Error is this
His lyrics are unique and his vocals are crisp
Bang that shit in your jeeps, or in a block with the fifth
So, front on this, kid, front on this
So I can let the shit that`s in my hand, light up my wrist
And let the shit that`s in it, like, eat through your chest
I`m far from the best, I`m more like the worst, you`ve ever seen
Spit green phlem from blunts, same colors my jeans
And my boots`ll be brown, geared up with street dial
Let the beats pound, cuz beef hound round the block
This is hip hop, niggaz fuck around and went pop
[Chorus 8X]
[Just Da Barber]
I`m like the Phantom of the Opera, from the Little Shop of Horrors
It be Da Barber, slash rapper, slash reporter
I keep the revolver, tucked near the waist, don`t even bother
With the all-starter, who get down like Vince Carter
Got it soul proper, cut your face like a chopper
Be the heart stopper, on the drop-of-the-dime rocker
Got it locked for all the Pradas, stash box under the rock
Keep a hard glock for hard knocks
So when the ball drops, I lick off four shots for four cops
Bounce outta state, open up four spots
More props to game, blocks to claim
Grown my own weed crops, spots the name
[P.R. Terrorist]
Knowledge to gain, Terrorist and Just re-aim
And when find the muthafucka, we gon` make him feel the pain
I feel victim to the game (who to name, who to blame
