Artist: Icewater f/ Hanz, Pimp C, Raekwon Album: Polluted Water Song: Knuckle Up Typed by: Cno Evil [Raekwon] We slang kilos, eighths to them shorties, bring g loads A paper to the hood, we got you, cop three of those And get your hustle right, whether you a trapper Or a gun clapper, make sure your weapon is hype We got all kinds of shooters, sprayers, pitchers Niggas who hit playa, catch you in ya gators Haters that love rocking niggas for bread, lead fly Hit in you back of your head, he getting dough, all that's dead now Yo, no more hallucinating, we just used to hating Go 'head and violate, we murder clicks, who you taking? Not none of us, you know my gun'll bust And every town state, niggas pull they guns for us And peel something up, and kill something up We go hard like Tennessee boys, hit 'em up We get it every day and, it's like a matinee and We on the block hard, Allah said 'Rae, you made it' It's time to take it over, it ain't a safe promoter Out there, give me my change or get thrown in the Rover [D.C.] It's Donnie, I get lots of bread, though as far as that block I got it locked, like a rasta's dreads And I will inf-beem dot ya head, put a couple of shots Inside your top, trynna stop my spread Fuck cops, I just watch for feds, cuz I know they be hating On how I'm caking, want me boxed or dead I move with birds by the flock, instead, D.C. I keep whooping, keep cooking, til the pots is red Keep pushing, I don't stop at reds, fuck a red light It's red light specials when I pop that lead I can even make a boxer beg, catch ya pops in bed Pop his legs, while you watch him beg The name's Donnie, I was mobster bred, so you know I'm a don Plus I was born with that shottas edge I keep that chopper filled with copperheads, I bust a couple of shots It'll leave a couple coppers dead And you can run a couple blocks ahead, and wont get away Unless you wore some shit today that blocks ya head [Chorus: Polite] Yo, real niggas don't brag alot, we put that work in That smash that block, you got a problem then the mag'll pop Or we can knuckle up, or we can spark it out And only bitch made niggas, wanna talk it out Most of these rappers only acting tough, these niggas ass or what? Fuck a round of applause, but we can clap it up Or we can knuckle up, or we can spark it out You little bitch made niggas bet to walk it out [Polite] Essence of murder lingers, shots off the roof, hit 'em It's like a video shoot, somebody bring the rhythm Don't nobody miss 'em, don't go against the system Levation, shots penetrate and lift 'em Watch how you talk to killas, words produce war Niggas is loose like bogies from the corner store A weed kinda sore, indeed and extreme thinker Precise movement, make a wrong move, dead nigga Black suits and coffins, roses and bible scriptures Paint red pictures, our brushes got air triggers Picasso price his head, I got some killas That'll love to take his life for bread, get auto, we want 'em dead [Pimp C] Step up your game, we off the square You can't be a pimp just 'cuz you got long hair Blasts don't make macks, AK don't make killa Scary nigga shoot first, if you a G, it's a curse Last of a dying breed like Brad Jordan Pimp C, bitch, words nuts and my foreign Say it in the streets, I say it to ya face Make ya whole muthafucking all, take my case Never give 'em my connects, never hit Pimp C I'm a young fucking hog, yes, the game belong to me Dick ain't free, fuck a promo show You ain't got fifty thousand cash, bitch, fuck a radio Fuck BET, and fuck Diana Ross Shut the fuck up, or get Slim Thug in a rhyme Hey Prince at club bar, DJ Screw is a king While my nigga Cadillac got your advance in my pinky ring, bitch [Hanz] Rap repos, hummers in your hood make your street closed Slide up on 'em, snatch 'em out his street clothes Big glocks made the breach froze, extorminate, eat 'em like they Fritos And make ya wise mind lead hoes, bust shots at 'em, reload And come again, where they crush your egos A drunk nigga shooting crooked free throws Yo, it's Hanz, I was built to eat those, a nigga took Thirteen, still standing like a Park Hill street pole Mad Max don of the east coast, I keep the heat close One shot'll turn ya frame to meat loaf [Chorus]