H.C.P.

[Intro: DJ Paul]
Yeah, H.C.P. Defeat does not exist in this Camp
Do you hear me it's goin down
Yhe niggas who's sellin for real
Ya boys hurtin out there man
I see your sound scans we killin you baby
And we gon keep bringing this pain
And this motherfuckin bump in your motherfuckin speakers

[Verse 1: DJ Paul]
See I'm the number one killa for these bitch ass niggas
Got guns got rope for a bitch ass nigga
Plastic bags, duck tape for a bitch ass nigga
Stolen cars, sellin hoes for a bitch ass nigga
S K's, double clips for a bitch ass nigga
40 cal. on the hip for a bitch ass nigga
Ridin Benz's shootin at you old bitch ass nigga
Hypnotize we allergic to a bitch ass nigga
Niggas wanna talk shit you a kid to me
I'll fuck you up, real dog, its some killas with me
In the end you won't see me, just wait for my calls
Ill ride by shoot your momma's house up and all
And leave a motherfucker bleedin on the carpet
Walk right up to your bedroom window and don't stop it
Nigga you started, I won't when I brought you back
Momma dead in the Lexus, when you look back

[Verse 2: Crunchy Black]
Hold up my nigga, this is danger you is facing
I'ma crank the fuckin chain saw and cut you like Jason
Ain't wastin no time, I'ma go on head and let my Smith & Wesson
Gone shine my nigga, yall be hatin
Ain't no hatin on me dog
Ima leave you layin in the motherfuckin street dog
Now catch this heat yall, unlock it and release yall
I'm just tryin to keep some mutherfuckin peace dog
Yall testin me

[Verse 3: Juicy J]
People always asking 'bout Project Pat
Did he get ten years or did his time go flat?
Well Ima tell you like this, its a baller battle
Try to prosecute a nigga, probably taller than Shaq
Me and my brother been down, since the days a rap
Hangin out Cypress Garden tryin to sell the crack
Can't no money or no bitch can relate to that
Through he good and the bad ima have his back
So ima tell you young niggas in the streets today
That be standing on the block, smoke chokin that hay
The Police, Prosecutors are the enemies
Dont get caught up in that cross yo decsion you make
If I could turn back the hands of time, I would
And tell my big brother the gun ain't no good
He got one strike, a felon, that stood
In front a white jury, they said: he was motherfuckin' guilty

[Verse 4: Lord Infamous]
Its the heavyweight Championship of rap
Hope you did all your sit ups and ran your laps
Cause I'm ready for the whole damn twelve round battle
Throw a jab left, hook right, to the mouth
And I don't think your boys gonna help you this time
Cause you done fucked around with the wrong damn kind
Gotta get up on my grind, got a box made of pine
Got a nine to your spine, yo I gotta get mine
With that in mind, yo for war, I am highly trained
Insane mane, and I got a very good aim
So bring yo bandaids and your pain killers
We four killer type of niggas
Best believe we leavin' you injured
Even worse then you had pictured
So get buck if you really think you want to
Best believe it's gonna come back and haunt you

[Verse 5: Lil Wyte]
Calls it quits when you talk cause you spoke my name
Gotta switch when you walk, lookin like you a dame
Lil Wyte, yeah I rocked it when I entered the game
Cause Ima hussler on my bumpin for my fortune and fame
And its a blessin, not a question, being part of this Camp
Learn a lessin from this blessin you can't fuck with this Fam'
Youll come up missin when you glisten your lil wrist I'm not dissin
Until the center of attention, and your momma you listenin
And I'm the one bringing thunder to this sky you wonder
Fuck around wit a mugger and Ill then make you wonder
What happened to this little craker it was just marijuana
His shoes just got a little bigger, I just gonna warn you
That he was creepin from the slab, where the gat is packed
Pull a Cop killer bullets that'll pierce your back
I tried to save your soul and plus state the facts
But still bitch made motherfucker's get laid flat

[Verse 6: Frayser Boy]
Muthafucker cock sucker you don't want none of this
Bitch pull a trigger tell a nigga fuckin wit this shit
HCP best believe, bring the motherfuckin pain
Clickin on you, hittin on you, we ain't playin no games
Fuck you off, we the boss, got the city on lock
Glock my side, time of ride, Got the sawed bitch cocked
Wit a nigga makin moves, in this fuckin rap shit
Trigger pull it, get a bullet, cause you know I'm strapped bitch
Know a bunch of niggas some real, some fake, some hate, Some trake
So I get them bitches out the way
Dont you test, be my guess, We gone bust the steal
Nigga one less, shoot less, tone to the head feel
Nigga what you wanna do dog
Bring the shit to the fan
Every stressin, got you goin down like quick sand
Frayser Boy, Rep of course, find me in the fuckin Bay
Slangin work, doin dirt, quickin wit the AK
Pass the gat and lets ride
Lord is in your house best go hide
Crunchy gon smack you cross the head wit the Tone
Juicy the type nigga you best leave lone
Paul ain't gone talk at all he gon blast
Fuckin wit this click you bitch you won't last
Much love to my nigga Pat and thats real
Lil Wyte reppin Bay with me don't get killed