If you don`t back off, I`m killing myself. (x4)
[M-Child]
I think you pushed the wrong button, bitch.
I self destruct, fuck the world, nigga talkin` shit.
They call me the shit starter of the fucking clique.
I represent O.M., Orange Mound, bitch.
A bunch of hard-core motherfucking lyricists.
Provided bags, bandana rags, and shoot quick.
And ride steamer, gettin` blown for the fuck of it.
I`m lovin` it, tell a hater straight, Suck my dick.
And giggle in your fucking face, `cause you lame, mane.
And ride through your fucking hood and do the same thing.
I test nuts when I`m high off that green and gin,
And got some gold brass knuckles that`ll bruise a chin.
They call me the M-Child, psycho fucking kid.
I`m splittin` weaves tryin` to get a motherfucking gig.
The shit I did or will do to a nigga,
Really gon` leave `em scared,
Standin` in a puddle of piss runnin` down his leg.
[M-Child] [Chorus x2]
(If you don`t back off, I`m killing myself. [x4])
I ain`t no bitch, I ain`t no hoe,
I ain`t no bitch, I ain`t no hoe,
Player hater you gotta go,
Player hater you gotta go,
I`m all about makin scrilla` and cookin` that green dough.
[M-Child]
I`m about stackin` grip,
I go to church `cause I`m holy.
People ask me what the M. stands for, because they nosey.
I keep a lot of shit to myself, keep niggas thinking,
What will he do next, when he high and when he drinking?
Don`t fuck around nigga, don`t fuck around with me,
I snap, crackle, and pop, like fucking Rice Crispies.
You think it`s a game, a motherfucking talk show?
Niggas laughin` like they ate a fucking Tickle-Me-Elmo.
Get that grin up off you face,
Get up out your paper chase,
Make a bitch bounce that ass,
Make her buy you birthday cake.
It`s a new millenium, 2000, I`m on the rise,
Better catch up, but not the kind you put on french fries.
I can make a nigga hot, make `em catch a bloody nose.
When I hit the studio, rip tracks like panty hose.
Bring pain, cause my game is like the finger fold,
Lock down, twist `em up, and refuse to let `em go.
[Chorus x2]
[M-Child]
You better hang on my nig`, I`m gone, I`m in a zone.
Microphone be on, better leave me alone.
Straight hard-core shit, I`m bringin` it to your home,
And to your tape cassette, CDs, or headphones.
Eliminations for sure, we be comin` in a pack,
Ready to attack, open up your back with a Gat.
Lock down, close shop, fill up every crack.
I ain`t givin` a nigga shit, not even a Scooby Snack.
Yo` hater you comin` back, why you tryin` to take mine,
I`ma turn into McGruff and take a bite out of crime.
Fuck `em all, `bout one phone call, it can be done.
Take `em out, `cause of low self-esteem, you on the run.
Never fucking with your kind, `cause your kind pullin` stunts,
I`ma beat your ass like you ate my Captain Crunch.
Drag `em through the mud,
Shoot your ass like a punk,
You only came too deep,
We bigger then Brady Bunch, nigga.
