Ice M.F. T

Yeah! 1993, I'm back motherfucker, this is Ice T
Got my nigga Ice Cube in the motherfuckin house
Yeah! Up here in the Ammo Dump studios I got my
Nigga Aladdin, SLJ's in the motherfuckin place
Behind the mixin boards
We about to do dis shit like this here!

Verse 1:
It's goin' down tonight in L.A
Buckshot and Uzi spray
Microphone blowa
The bitch checka, the ho wrecka
Ice motherfuckin' T, nigga step to me
But grab ya hoes quick
Cause the Syndicate's throwin that crazy dick
Punk motherfuckers run up, you'll get done up
We'll have your ass gunned up before sun-up
So what's the color I'm raggin?
Been a millionaire for years, still saggin
Left pocket's stuffed with a huge ass brick
.380 in my right so it sags a little bit
More than the rest of my gear when I'm on tour
I empty clips, bust lips, and I break jaws
Cause I love to loc up
So punk motherfucker don't choke up
When you're talkin' to me

Chorus:
Ice, Ice motherfuckin T (x4)

Verse 2:
Bush, Quayle and Clinton got a problem with me:
The motherfuckin T
I give less than a fuck about any of them
Or their fuckin police friends
They'd like to take me out, make me a goner
They even tryin to sweat Time Warner
Why? For tellin' the truth to the youth
That a lot of motherfuckers are hot and want police shot
You can't stop this shot
The fires are out but the coals are still hot
I got juice to bring pain
You tryin' to fuck with the Ice, are you insane?
This shit is bigger than me, be warned
It's the lull before the storm
And every fuckin thing I write
Is gonna be analyzed by somebody white

Chorus

Verse 3:
Run motherfucker, hide motherfucker
Trip motherfucker, die motherfucker
You don't give love and you won't get loved
You don't push and you won't get shoved
No joke, I ain't here to laugh, I ain't here to cry
But every night of the week one of my homies die
Eeny meeny mynie mo
Blood's pourin out the naps of your afro
It could be you, it could be you, could be you
Could be your whole damn crew
It happens real quick
Screechin tires, next thing you're hit
Your body's cold, your body's hot
Feel your chest, you gasp for breath, you're shot
And now your homies is trippin'
Lookin for a gat to put they clip in
Street crime- that's the thing I bring
Ice-T I rap, B.C. I sing
They call it controversy
I call it truth with no mercy
The beats are phat, Ammo Dump tracks
The kind that make speakers crack
Not made for squares or the weak punks
They're made to bump trunks
Press - get the fuck out my fuckin face
I ain't got no more time to waste
A ho is a ho, a bitch is a bitch, a nigga is a nigga and that's it
I'm through explaining the shit
You just makin me backtrack
The next duck reporter will get hit with a blackjack
Plus, every one of my true fans
Totally understands a nigga like me

Chorus (x2)