Welcome to Your Own Death - Brotha Lynch Hung, Doomsday Productions

And as I bail through the woods of the southside

Terror Zone, nine milli chrome, kill alone cause I trust no snitch

When I peel a dome and bail

Gone like hell right through the do

I’m rollin' a fat sack of red boogy boo, nigga ooh

Watch me bail, nigga but you don’t see me though

Cause I’m rollin' fat sacks in the back of my vehicle

But takin' a puff of the dank stuff

And enough that double O-A-E dooz me

I’m slowly loadin' up the UZI

Well now who’s he?

Well, it’s that dead motherfucker doe

Well, whatcha know, comin' through with that murder mo

And I heard you know, now whose been bustin' up on the garden blocc

You either give up the information

Nigga or get shot, so nigga now what!

I guess you wanna dose of this milla

Twenty-four shots from that momma’s baby killa

Nigga mack hustla, cap busta, in fact I’m just a MAC-10

Bustin' em at your chin before I crept nigga

Welcome to your own death

Nigga welcome to your own death x6

(BUCK! For them who don’t know bout loc to da brain

Them got them nine millimeter strap and true is the game) x2

Some niggas miss my sicc

Some niggas don’t know me, niggas don’t know my click

That O-loc-double-C-O-G rip gut cannibal type of shit

Plus many more caps bust

Anymore sacks to roll up, we need that high back

So niggas done load them nines and pull them hijacks

And lie back in the cut and roll another fat one up

Tack one up for loc to the brain

Them niggas that really don’t give a fuck

Around and get buck-shotted up and dumped in a truck and left in a cut

So nigga now whatcha gon do with a mini MAC-10 ten at yo gut

Plus niggas nuts and guts is what I rips for

Creepin' up in a six four impala

Mobbin' a loots all up to make you vomit from the raw gut cause

Know what I do is let my nine do the talkin'

Leavin' you walkin' to your funeral, loc

Diggin'?

yo smoke from the mack 1−0

I had ya pussin' just in case

I got me a MAC-11 for your face that’s leavin' no trace

Caps leavin' a gate and puttin' holes in a niggas neck

So watch the reaper when I creep crept

Welcome to your own death

When I hit the blocc with a nine

Them fools better be duckin'

My nigga duck got out the car and started buckin' at niggas runnin'

Untraceable gauge shells

Only worry is goin' to hell

And 5−0 they just can’t swoop

See cause we mobbin' too well

My murder file done pile more than a nigga expected

See cause have of the city of Sac still ain’t accepted

That I’m a pack and when I’m sweated I’mma put in work

Cause my O-T told me why Jesus got to kick up some dirt

And I’m tired of warnin' a motherfucker about a nigga like me

When it’s hard to believe

The nine millimeter comin' out my pants gonna make you dance

See that’s the city and it’s making a motherfucker stress

Gotta watch your back like 24−7

Unless you wanna E livin' the rest of your life

Up in a cemetery die nigga die you’ll repeat until you’re buried

That nine millimeter givin' no motherfuckin' respect

Up on your back with your last breath

Welcome to your own death