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Bullets fly Quicker than the eye As you was hittin' maryjane To ease the pain Your homie died Muthaf*cka I’mma ride Til the rallies on steel I'm in the bushes camouflaged Ain't thinkin' 'bout no clientele If I fail I rot in jail And if I succeed I burn in hell So either way I’m f*cked in these streets The bible says I live my life wrong Statistics say I’ll die young I can't disagree 'cause I’m a f*ckin' walkin' time-bomb The clock is tickin' Fingers itchin' To unleash a beast And thirty-two empty homies That are dyin' to feast Upon your flesh, you wanna kill me? Sucka really? You're the type to pull your strap And shoot holes in the ceiling You're not cut out for killing Sucka give it up Put your strap aside ride to the club And live it up... I'm to the cuts!
[Chorus x3] (I'm to the cuts!) Out to the cuts The clock is tickin' Finger's itchin' In the bushes camouflaged Waiting for my victim
I never thought that I would live to see the age of twenty-one I grew up paranoid one eye open sleepin' with my gun Fifty dollars bought my first strap, a sawed-off one shot gauge Since the day I let it blaze I’ve been stuck in evil ways And amazed, at the power that it could devour Strip that O.G. of his reputation in that late night hour Shells showered left the situation soured with funk But ain't no stoppin' the poppin' that gets to droppin these punks I found my callin' so I hooked up with some natural born killaz Preferring forty-five calibers over nine millaz The five-o's out to peel us so I creep with caution Steppin' out a skylark on them red chucks flossin' Hoggin', I be that mutha f*cka that you hate Cause you know I’ll take that clip and slap it in and test your fate And demonstrate that yoc influenced state of mind that I’m stuck Up in committin' sin with a devilish grin, I gives a f*ck I'm to the cuts!
[Chorus x4] (I'm to the cuts!) Out to the cuts The clock is tickin' Finger's itchin' In the bushes camouflaged Waiting for my victim
Creepin', crawlin' Strap not fallin' But got a box of ammo For the weapon that I’m haulin' The streets are callin' So I’m comin' with artillery And chucks and khakis As I move up on my enemies A pedigree soldier Yeah that's were the foul Northern Cal profile Nothin' less I confess I'm a sinner But how can I show remorse Cuz I can't afford to let the Bible Throw me off course I'm known to rivals When I gotta make these Sucka's skull crack It could be better than Havin' my chips and a yacht And bet the whole stack Do or die Make these muthaf*ckas understand That they're tryin' to touch A particle that they can't comprehend Can't pretend to be a soldier When your a punk Cuz it'll hold ya Hog tied in the trunk And name one chump Run your mouth And now you’re bent up like a slut Should have kept your pistol cocked F*ckin' with this Yoc murderer
[Chorus x4] (I'm to the cuts!) Out to the cuts The clock is tickin' Finger's itchin' In the bushes camouflaged Waiting for my victim
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