Onyx - Face Down Songtext
Yo Fuck that!
Word to mother yo
Who you runnin' with? AFFICIAL NAST! Fuck that!
Who you runnin' with? AFFICIAL NAST!
Yo, I'm goin' straight for ya head to leave you headless
Eyez are redness, I spray rap cats, to burn a lack tips
Point like rain, I take aim, blow ya brain out the frame
Eight shots'll touch ya, spit ya physical structure
MUTHAFUCKA this is lyrical destructure!
Path from disaster, face Nast comin' at ya
Full blast, I catch ya fragile ass, breath like ya astma
Couldn't kill less, you approach your near death
My hollow tips, rip a kid that's politic, with da villains
The devil himself, a rebel in himself, trapped in America
Assassinate ya charachter, slaughter ya
Twenty more holes in ya (norica?)
, FUCK ALL OF YA!
What?! Bringin' MC's, YEAH, callin' ya
Livin' like a nigga with six months to live
On da edge of life, wouldn't think twice, to make a SACRIFICE!
To a hoist, ya niggaz ain't drew to life, my whole crew is trife!
So bring ya wildest nigga rappin' for ya team
See his ass who was clean, this is Suicide Queens
Where gats bust, cut rope, cross Callahtaru
Gather shatter you, feel the pain, son imaginable
Self shit, straight from the hood, the dirty black shit
Rap shit, get ya back ripped, plus the gat spit
Blown in the cockred bag, or 32 tracks
Murder you in raps, let my wild dogs bust the CATS!
Styles leave the best dead, I stay breast-fed
And when I die, be handcuffed til my deadbag
[Chorus] *Sample from "Rampage"*
Sticky Fingaz sneak up, when you least expect it
I never fuck pussy, that seed's infected
Fuck a brain frie, make me think he rational
If I even think you sceamin', YOU KNOW I'MA BLAST YOU
I'm too raw, what issue out your gore? I cut through any challenger
Or top macho immature, you'd rather be in the Projects
But an ass, where's a hundred G's cash
You know gun, in the fuck with Sticky, Fredro 'n Son
You lookin' at one desperate nigga, you shouldn't've messed with
I had a doctor scared, movin' (----)(?)
'Memba when I test it, this nigga manhood
To see if he was a true nigga, so I pulled out my gun
Gave some dramatic asspiece, and pulled the trigger
Haha! Barrel empty, joke on New Jack
He cold, pissed his pants, pulled his cover, he in New Jack
You know where I'm comin' from, most of my niggaz pump 'n jump
And when it's time to dump and run, I never jump the gun
Or get cold feet, I hold heat, ya niggaz don't know me
And six hours are made of four years
Got high shit for your ears, sorry somethin' that I never felt yo
Fingatips made 'em fell chrome, you talkin' shit like it's a little game
That's now how we get down, 'beef' is my middlename
So don't die over nonsense, I ain't got no conscious
Come out ya face you gettin' shot, everything was spittin' hot
I need fame without the bread, like I need a hole in the head
And insult the injury, you can't fuck with me, guess that's not ya capuchi
I'm every star me, if you haul what you eat, fuck the rookies rejects
Play close and detects, I had a hard life, grew up too quik
But kept it tight with my true clique, I start in a new flip
Fuck you're frontin' for? I seen back, what you tell between your leg
Afficial Nast in da house to meet 'em dead!
You takin' a RIDE, in da ambulance
You catch mad damages, cock the hammer shit
Leave you Los like Angeles, You ain't brick, my stock-o
But paper my shit, whatever you got, to take in da way
YOU'RE BAKIN' TODAY, trust that, it's time to crush cats
When I bust raps, I rust tracks and oft act, BUCKWILD!
Army comin' through, hear nigga, DRUNK STYLE!
FUCK YOU! FUCK THE JUDGE! FUCK TRIAL!
I'm givin' nigga shatter ego's, I keep fools
On pet bet face more threat, MAKE 'EM EAT THOSE!
Leave goals my death, sleep ho's get wet
If that ain't enough, we come through and hold ya shit
Hit you with da FIREWORKS, you see the stars BLINKIN'
I really BANG THEM and prepare you for God's ANGELS
It's not a humble, but some shit you can't come through
Nigga try to blow he gotta go, and now you know
He's fearin', from the fearious, irious, dead serious, high styrious
Feelin' ya, interior, wait nervousness for ya services
WE CUTTIN' OFF YOUR CIRCULATION, AND DEAD IN YA PURPOSES!
We them niggaz you can't FUCK with, friend will shine
All mics I slang (--)
, change your mind
Of those thinkin' they playin' theirself, NEXT is ACTION
Ya stole, you muthafuckaz gettin' CHROME!
Writer(s): ERIC SERMON, JAMES TODD SMITH
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