This Is How We Drop

[Verse 1: E-92] It's E-92 running up your fucking block Quicket Bat cocked, tear you up like a black cock Doper than the smack doe; all up in your ass, ho Run up to that flat hot: dad get his cap shot Glocks sticking out my slacks like extra dicks In your mother-fucking mouth, tasting like a Twix Three guns: give a shit. I'll give you a shout Run up with your clique and your bitch-ass pout You're the next to get your shit spit out of your wig ****'s grossed out but this is fucking sick Five Saints clique, man: we rock the fucking spot N64's pissed cause of my last drop Bitches don't want no more Steele Jacket But I'm getting crunk and probably hella ratchet Me and Ether, Saint John's Road, got that weed fever But dawg, what I really want is that sweet beaver [Verse 2: The Etherealist] Don't fuck with the MadKilla, gorilla, skill-spiller for dillas I'm building a bigger picture; you 'nilla than fucking Hitler The sickest whigger to ever hit the fucking game: It's E-92 blinding you; shining through for fucking days Five Saints slays; rap's AKs point at your face Haters fugaze'; devils be just a fucking craze I'm a-fucking-mazed that you still try'na fuck wit' I'm rugged. Ether and E be puffing on that crunk shit You suck dick. Sizzaints is out for the duckets Lost a few but we be balling and causing a ruckus Yo fuck this; 92 don't give two fucks Piss off the Saints and M-80s will get your crew pumped Glue guns be jetting down your throat: burn your insides But you love dick so much, it's probably like your Wednesday night Your gay pride: it shines through when you rap Bastards get dragged ass-back through acid baths [Verse 3: E-92] TO BE CONTINUED