9 Little Millimeta Boys

(Motherfuckers)

Tight grip on the TEC-9, now it's time to creep

Hollow tips, in the clip, puttin' suckas in a deep sleep

Win, lose, or draw yo gat

Die if you ain't quick enough

Or end up at 201

Just because you think you tough

**** in the med, now they dead, from the uzi round

Trick was found, bloody on the ground, down in orange mound

Hole, in his dome, from the chrome, dat my hand held

Cuts, on the hoe, where I whooped 'em with da fanbelt

Bitches think I'm soft, 'cause I treat them with respect

But I won't hesitate to smoke a bitch wit my TEC

9 millimeta beata if I feel dat I should hit that hoe

Smack, step back, then watch that hoe hit the floor

**** on the gank might do better at a bank

'Cause I'm packin' what you lackin' and I'm shootin' like a tank

Its the P-I-M-P ya, the funky MC ya

The **** dats droppin dem bitches wit my 9 millimeta

1 little, 2 little, 3 little tricks

4 little, 5 little bitches on my dick

6 little, 7 little, 8 little **** make

9 little millimeta boys (Boys)

9 little millimeta ****, how you figure

It's a chance, talkin' shit, wit ya gun in ya pants

I'ma step on your ass like a stepbrother

Looks as if to me dat you a mothafuckin' death lover

Weak ass boy, wit a toy on da street

Cappin' on the right mothafucka till he meet

The wrong mothafuckin' pimp tight, operator

Who shoot a **** first, and then reason wit em later

Now punks, trip me out, wit a gun and no clip

Catchin' nothin' but a charge 'cause he wanna be hip, but ya slipped

Anyway, when ya left witout ya bullets

Now be a stupid fool, reach for it then pull it

But you ain't, 'cause u can't, pull a gun wit no ammo

You thinkin' you can beat it but you know you ain't Rambo

So it's best you try to beg for ya life to stay alive

'Cause tricks, gettin' dey dome blown away wit 25

And all about da poppin' me a clip in get hip

You betta pack yo bags, 'cause you goin' on a trip

Dis shit is thick as Heinz, and da shit is gettin' thicker.

For da 9 little millimeta ****

(Oh shit, I’m hit)

Is there a doctor in the house?

(Shit, I’m hit)

Damn, I think I’m dyin'

(Shit, I’m hit)

Please call the doctor!

(Shit, I’m hit)

The mothafuckin' pigs wanna fuck up da game

Sendin' **** to jail, because They sell cocaine

Rocks of crack, make stacks of dead presidents

Junkies fiendin' for a hit, fucks up my residence

5-o, creepin' tryna catch a **** serve one

Thats, when I got my mothafuckin' shotgun

**** in da bushes tryna rob me for what I got

Watch dem bitches scatter when I unload, da buckshots

Jack- or be jacked, creep- or get creeped on

But **** don't step wrong, 'cause 8ball keep a tone

And if ya shoot at me I hope ya hit me and kill me dead

'Cause if I don't die, I’m puttin' a hole in yo fuckin' head

Scandalous hoes, love a **** dats beldum

Play dat innocent role, and have a **** fucked up

She'll suck ya dick and then ya fall in love

While ya at home sleepin', she sellin pussy at da club

But look here hoes, I won't go out like a punk bitch

It takes more to get me, den the fuckin' and suckin' dick

Don't disrespect me, 'cause ho I’m the truth

9 little millimeta **** smoke bitches too

(Oh shit, I’m hit)

Is there a doctor in the house?

(Shit, I’m hit)

Damn, I think I’m dyin'

(Shit, I’m hit)

Please call the doctor!

(Shit, I’m hit)

I tote a mothafuckin' tone, when I gotta roam, 'cause pimps don't play

And I gotta stay, where young black **** obey

Some kinda rule or strategy, 'cause I can't be havin' the

Shit from no **** who think his tone is backin' me

Away from da shit he talk, da shit ain't worth bein' heard

I’m thinkin' bout cappin' domes, you ain't shootin' shit but birds

For nigas who totin' shanks, I hope you young **** think

To creep from a pimps backside before you take his bank

'Cause I ain't no mothafuckin' target, ain't no use of startin' dis shit

Wit a **** who legit, smokin bud by da pound

Orange mound is my stomping ground

Dat's where I’m found, and all da **** who down

They gonna step when I step, jump when I jump

I'ma be throwin' funk, dey gon' be shootin' funks

Havin' a mothafuckin' tone, really, really, really, ain't shit to me

It’s just another fuckin' responsibility

But weak **** like 'em turn crumbs into bricks

Gettin' off in da click, wit sum petty ass shit

MJG, will play a punk like a toy

You little 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 little millimeta boys

(Oh shit, I’m hit)

Is there a doctor in the house?

(Shit, I’m hit)

Damn, I think I’m dyin'

(Shit, I’m hit)

Please call the doctor!

(Shit, I’m hit)