"Guns on my upper thighs
One quits, the other tries.. one shifts, the other drives
One rinses, the other dries.. whenever the shit gets real
'Cause ya'll are all fake; ketchup & rubber knives
The guns go hand-in-hand.. one's blind, but hears
One listens, one watches, they're my eyes & ears
There's a problem, don't take it light
Guns'll fix that, spite the fact two wrongs don't make a right
The 9's are twins, I measured from wide to long
But can't tell left from right or right from wrong"
He's still got that dark wit, just sucks he can't get production to match his lyrics
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Even signing my autograph’s like writing a slaughter pact
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