Git Cha Gully Up

I'm in the pitch black
With midnight marauder
Play it low but I will kidnap your daughter
I take what's mine
I don't wait around for any offers
Fresh off a world tour like
I just ran for office
I'm on some Jedi Mind shit
This is brain slaughter insane author
Publishing and painting torture
Never be a ghost, remain in my physical form
Go to war with anybody, this is Desert Storm
You never catch me talking shit
On a message forum
But if your man got words I
Got a message for him
Official pistol lifts you, slip yo
Rip through bone tissue twist you
Separate your fucking nerves when
The chrome hit's you
So if you got grown issues
Then state your biz
You got beef? Then claim it
Don't say that it's his
You got faith in God? Then pray that you live
You like to walk with the Devil?
Then faith what it is you pick your poison
I'll sip a potion and spit an ocean
Keep your neck inside my palm and
Watch me rip it open
You bitches hoping the barrel smoking
Will get me choking
But I'm a goon by blood
That shit'll get me focused

If you insane in the membrane waving
An M16 with a beam get your money up
If you got beef in your reach
Where you eat and you sleep
Niggas deep when they creep
Get your gully up
If you a soldier, a rider provider
And ride for the cause, you the boss
Get your money up
If you insane full of rage with a gauge
Still trapped in a cage all day
Get your gully up

If I push snow at the
Snowgoons it wouldn't be illegal
Would Illegal come through with more
Goons and the Desert Eagles
My people be shovelling bodies right
Up off the sidewalk
All of the above my nigga
Let's get these pies off
Never the type to see beef and slide off
Only happened once
They tried to cut my life short
But now I'm thirty-one with a dirty gun
Four kids deep
I dare you niggas to hurt just one
One is enough to get your cranium cracked
I bulldoze like Pujols deranged with a bat
I came for the cash and
I ain't leaving broke now
My gasmask is made of glass
Bitch I'm focused now
Warchild more foul, I'm caving your gums in
More wild Trojan Horse style, trample gunmen
Nigga and my dungeon filthy
Sure it's ice grilling knowing
Motherfuckers is guilty
In a courtroom with a pitchfork and a spoon
Feasting off all the blood that
Was forced in the womb orbit the moon
I'm awkward with a torch in your tomb
Cremating your soul
Hope they choke off the fumes