All My Shootings Be Drivebys

[Trash Talk]
Ah yeah, that's right motherfuckers! I'm back riding a funky track. I got a story to tell you all. So listen up! Yo! Trip on this!

[Verse 1]
I'm rolling through the hood on a Saturday night
Got a 40 in my left hand, my dick in my right
Some chronic in my lap, a pager in my cap
And a 9 millimeter in the small of my back
I'm just chilling no place to be
I take another pull off my 40 z
I'm thinking 'bout spinning a fat ass tree
A B to the L to the U-N-T

Then I get a call on my dope cell phone
Check the caller ID, what up homes?
Yo, it's the Doom and his news ain't good:
(Little Pookie got capped last night in the hood.)
I feel like the world is fading away
I saw Little Pookie just the other day
Pookie was my boy we shared Kool-aid in the park
Now some punks took his life in the dark

I ask Doomsday who the motherfuckers be
(Some punk-ass bitches from MIT.)
The fucking Institute, man I should've known
I say meet me at my crib and hang up the phone
Playtime's over, I got a job to do
And the world will be less crowded by the time I'm through
And I'll keep rolling while bullets fly
Cause all my shootings be drivebys

[Verse 2]
One minute to midnight we hit the street
Cold as a cadaver, hard as concrete
Doomsday's packing a baby Mac
Got my AK-47 and the nine in my back
The Alpine's glowing, P.E.'s flowing
Got my swerve on tight and my game face showing
Them damn punks are gonna pay
The Hawk's on the case, a bird of prey

Then up ahead cold chilling in the street
Six motherfuckers from MIT
I flick off the safety, check my grip
And load a dum-dum clip
I glance at the Doom to make sure he's packed
His finger's on the trigger of his baby Mac
Time to give a Newtonian demonstration
Of a bullet, its mass, and its acceleration

Nine on my lap AK in my hand
I roll up slow like a snake in the sand
I wait till I'm sure they can see my face
Then I bust out slugs to the beat of the bass
The streets sketched out in the full moon light
MIT punks dying left and right
There's nowhere to run don't even try
Cause all my shootings be drivebys

[Verse 3]
Then silence hits the street like a bomb
An eerie calm like the eye of storm
Beneath the glow of an old street light
Dead MIT punks be the only sight
6 motherfuckers no longer alive
And Pookie's been avenged 1 for 1 plus 5
And we'll be long gone 'fore the cops arrive
Cause all my shootin's be drivebys

[Trash Talk]
Ah yeah! I'm busting more shit than an incontinent man at a chili cook-off! The moral of the story is: don't fuck with the Hawkman, cause the Hawkman ain't down with that eye for an eye bullshit. Fuck that! You take an eye and I'll take your motherfucking head!