The G Filez - Celly Cel, Celly Cel Ft LIT, Lit

Eye for an eye

Ride or you die

Won’t leave the house unless I’m strapped up

I might get backed up in the traffic

Niggas is dumping on me when I got my zapper

Creeping up on me

And I got one hand on the wheel

One hand on the steel

Trying to break a nigga for skrill

And I’m ridin' wit sharp shootin' skills

Funk season, whatever the reason

I’m dealing wit drama

Send me one of them mangie ass niggas

Runnin' home, cryin' to Mama

So I kick the door to eliminate the whole situation

Fuckin' wit me me will ended up

Having his family eraseded

Face it, no charges leaving the body behind until

You better respect game

Bow down when real niggas bail through yo hood

But won’t be caught up in a twist

Flash on us unless you end up sleeping wit the fish

Seamin' shoes, lady singing the blues, them sad ballads

Fried chicken, collad greens, and potato salads

Surrounded them by of family members cryin'

Eye for an eye' you ride or you die

Eye for an eye

You ride or you die ride or you die

Niggas get at cha and run back at them

But let them bullets fly

He got the Mac One-O

And moved nice on the piggies

Hit 'em up and buck

And leave them struck when I’m tipsy

Ain’t no love for the true thugs

That die for this shit

Wit 150 round drum ride for this shit

Fuck the hard hats end locs, pass the fo fo

And watch me smoke them hoes

Like the last hit of indo, and fo' sho

I smash and blast, nigga, when I’m provoked

With a doe of platinum coke

I holds down a fort

Why you smiling for

These niggas playing games on the street

That’s where they meet the heat

They sweep they ass up off of they feet

This ain’t no fairy tale

You fuckin' with Cel

Hit the scenes wit machines

If you want my team

It ain’t no in between

Seventeen through your temple

When your crossing the realest niggas

To spit this killa shit on the mic

And make the world feel us

Hit 'em wit rounds

of hollows then we follow

Niggas to they spine

And chop they ass up

Wit fully-auto's

I ain’t no actor bitch

My life is worser than the movies

For real though, from steel toes to my uzi

Pushin' Impala S.S.'s

Benz, Beamers, to Lamborginis

And chase my strip down wit X.O., Henn, and Remi

Rolex on my wrist

Hundred dollar bill’s crisp

I pull the blunt from my lip

Then the 4−5 from my hip and spit

The incredible medical or hard core

The deadliest medacine gas ever set off in a war

Westcoast’s the spot

Where we lock our million dollar doors

Survival in hell, packing heat

Ducking from them

I’m just a thug nigga

Step on your street and draw my heat

And then I plug niggas

I be a G from the G.B.C

That’s why I mug niggas

Don’t flag I just sag and carry a mag

And get off in the snitches asses

And Brotha Lynch, you a bitch for still ridin' with Doc

Screaming out the block

Bitch I’ll have you die wit Doc

Bullets fly