Artist: Apocalipps
Album:  DJ Storm - G-Unit vs. Ruthless Bastardz
Song:   I Don't Care
Typed by: King Kane

[Chorus: Apocalipps]
I don't really care what MCs say
And I don't give a fuck what them wan' do
All I really know is I got my guns
And I stick to that shit like glue
I don't give a fuck what MCs say
And I don't really care what them wan' do
All I really know is I got my guns
And I stick to those shits like glue

[Apocalipps]
I met some Staten Island niggas that'll touch you up
Jump out a Newport cab and fuck you up
The Brooklyn house bandit is back to break you dudes
On the island, S.I., probably ate your food
Now, I know you're fed up but I'm (ack to boss
Yall rap too soft, and who said the Stat fell off?
You must be crazy smokin that hazey, I bring it to you, baby
You push a Lex, but tomorrow you push daisies
Waitin for Bin Laden, he probably chillin in Manhattan
Laughin, flickin it up, waitin on the boat
I know he gon be wildin once we leavin Staten Island
On my way from Coney Island see my man from Rikers Island
Yeah, I put your monkey ass out right here
Habeas corpus, and bitch, I'll be home next year
With forty dollars from the pen, plus a bottle of Hen
The Daily News said 'That nigga Lipps, he's done it again!'
You got a little crew and yall carry little tools
I hit you up bad and save one bullet for little you
Respect it, you got no choice but to respect it
I'm a quarterbacks shots, you Randy Moss you gonna catch it
Catch it like a cold outside, freezin, with no hat
Catch it like a pop up Derek Jeter hit with his bat
Yo, catch it like a frisbee, fuck it, kick rhymes till you get dizzy
And my style's off the hook like telephones when they busy
I weight a buck 50, holdin mad weight, I guess I'm heavy
So before I kick a phat verse, I drink some Dick Gregory
Smoke trees, run through red lights in a Chevy
We could get' dough or shoot it out like niggas in Belly
Fuck it, put two in your belly
That aint bulletproof, that's a Pelly
And I believe some slugs gon' fly like R. Kelly

[Chorus]

[Apocalipps]
Here's the issue, I want mines plain and simple
Or the infrared'll sit on ya face just like a pimple
All in the game, Lipps aint falling from pain
I want your mental, but I settle for your physical frame
I wished the mind and the body was like one and the same
So when I blast you I can send you on that spiritual plane 
I'm sparkly silk, yall niggas is hardly built
I smoke so much trees, my piss look like chocolate milk
And fuck talkin, cause you know that I'm starvin, bitch
Gun in your face, jerkin' quick, now show me what you workin with!
Nah, cause that's that Mystikal shit
Give me your money 'fore I hit you with this pistol and shit
They dig you a ditch, and leave you for the maggots to get
Talkin shit with no heart is why you faggots get bit
I know you're sayin 'How the fuck son get nice like that?'
They threw my ass in a box, gave me a pen and a pad
That's all that I had, besides one soap and a rag
On some George Jackson shit I corrispond with my dad
Art of War style, he taught me how to get niggas back
And heat been buildin since they built the first wall in the max
Get right with a Dutch, the gun work, I'm nice when I bust
The barrel get so hot, it turn your ice into slush
Don't want to hear about your man and his stash
Cause he's ass, Apocalipps, I'm known to push the rock fast like Steve Nash
In a battle, I put your mic on a stretcher
Cause your rhymes is watered down like Chinese ketchup
I blast you corns, come back and your stash'll be gone
Kill everybody you run with before you pass the baton, bitch!

[Chorus 1/2]