Slang Killaz (9th Prince)

(feat. Killarmy, Islord, P.R. Terrorist) Hmm.. oooh.. ooh.. Killa Beez.. Killarmy.. Eh-yo A Soviet deep in Paris, Playboy rabbits want carrots Luxury marriage, 9th ain't havin it I keep the forty-five automatic like Mathematics Start terminatin savages, I'm raw like 'caine to easy addicts Street tactics, million dollar caskets On biblical war, perform Michael Jackson Thriller but way iller A slave killer, protected by Shaolin and Brooklyn Zu guerillas Under my pillow, I sleep with grenades, untraceable heaters Lay deeper than scientific readers My cipher sounds will ding pound, I blast you on ya nightgown Kidnap ya child, might give him to the crowd On my way Uptown in my '95 Millenium Seen Killa Sin and 'em, let niggas sound feminine Remember 9th Prince ill forever, I get up in 'em My style is like runnin' up in small town banks Bulletproof tanks, never bust blanks Always suffer with shank Killa Beez.. we will sting you.. Killa Beez.. Killarmy.. Aiyo aiyo once again We stingin' y'all mothafuckas cuz I don't give a flyin' fuck About none of y'all niggas out here Cuz if you ain't none of my mothafuckin' Killarmy comrades Fuck y'all! Yo, check the topic to this essay It's murder in the first, ese? As I bust a slug through yo' fragile statue And that's actual, precise timed and on point like a marksman Four-four, rubber grip, Summer of Sam specialist, so take this Four-hunded grain thought that'll pierce ya cranium From the rear, I don't give a fuck, this is my year I'm takin this rap shit back from the wack Fuck who you are kid, fuck where you representin at Cuz basically my mentality is on some '93 shit When you had to Protect Ya Neck in this shit To be an MC, now it's al about the tight clothes Crossed over flows, platinum jewelery to get a plaque in the industry But never the I-S-L-to the O-R-D I keep my shit muddy like my Timbs be, you fake ass MC's Killa Beez.. Killarmy.. Killa Beez.. we will sting you.. Aiyo Terrorist I'm on the block like any man The difference between me and you is I understand You askin' questions, "What's that shit up in my hand?" Answer your questions, I fire that shit up in ya pan Bitch nigga, understand? I'm the P-R-T, era is this His lyrics are unique and his vocals are crisp Bang that shit in ya Jeeps or on ya block with the fifth So front on his, kid, front on this 'Til I could let this shit that's in my hand light up my wrist And let this shit descend in like E-V ya chest I'm far from the best, I'm more like the worst you ever seen Spit green phlegm from blood same color as my jeans And my boots'll be brown, get up, the street's down Let the beat hound cuz beef pound, 'round the block This is hip-hop, niggas fucked around and went pop Killa Beez.. Killarmy.. (3x) Killa Beez.. we will sting you..