No More Mr. Nice Guy

[Intro] Aiyo, got ya muthafucka seein stars (Brown Hornet, Pop) Blastin muthafuckas out the muthafuckin box (Out the box) [Pop Da Brown Hornet] Shake rattle & roll, ratters than ya peasants ya peasants Form a line, while I'm handin out presents Stiff jabs or stiff kicks, for a nigga Big back with stiff dick, for my bitches Burn like a cancer stick, free loaded spit Them cops that killed Diallo, they can suck my dick 41 shots, enough lead to take a city exam Or ain't that one man with the NYPD Who need the Ku Klux Klan I ain't runnin or hiddin, like 2Pac I'm riddin and dyin New York, New York, It's where brothers are sport Make it to the playoffs, don't get happy get ya head blown off We got dick for nuts, puttin fingers on red buttons Ready to launch, tellin us, turnin ya arms Hell no baby, ya devils must be crazy Out of ya mind, I'm holdin on to my nine Chorus: Smoke (Pop Da Brown Hornet) No More Mr. Nice Guy (No More Mr. Nice Guy) No More Mr. Nice Guy (No More Mr. Nice Guy) No More Mr. Nice Guy (No More Mr. Nice Guy) No More Mr. Mr. Mr. Mr. Mr. Mr [Pop Da Brown Hornet] You hold every sentimental As for me, I lost my feelings somewhere inside the temple Where they got throat cutters and back stabbers A life is lost right in front of your eyes, nothing really matters You just go on living, Projects is like prison We got fags and dikes, razor blades and knifes Homo thugs, and all type of drugs Addicts, snitches, bitches, holdin ya pictures With nothin on but a thong Fuck me, leave at night, for a trailer visit, fuck you in the morn Bad boys, we killin toys, they muffle and noise Never lose they boys, they just keep on squeezin Bodies drop for no reason, kill you for breathin Rumble till we even, or till one of us die Eye for an eye, yo it's no more Mr. Nice Guy Heads gotta fly, we 'em up, let 'em hang dry Choke 'em till they pass out, wake up in ya briefs Playin for keeps, yo fuck you and your peeps Never had it good, my last album went wood Bought my words when you hear this, I'm movin out the hood Takin no prisoners, no eye witnesses, if ya sensitive Back up, you want no part of this Ghetto bastard, who never got his ass kicked I just stay kickin ass, got the mic and the smash Step up, feel the blast from the Brown Bomber You don't really want drama, quick to start shit But then go runnin to ya mama "Dial 911 Brown Hornet on the new cent, he fuckin with my son" Bitch tell that piece of shit to finish what he started With this cold hearted, half retarded, hip hop artist Weak rapper, told ya lame ass not to cry But you gotta fry fuckin wit no more Mr. Nice Guy Chorus [Outro] Aiyo, aiyo, aiyo, this Smoke right here The new millennium, ain't no more Mr. nice guy That's right, that's right When you see us in the club, there's no more Mr. nice guy When you see us in the streets, no more Mr. nice guy That's right, Baby Pop, Brown Hornet baby Smoke Records, RNS Productions, Ain't no more Mr. nice guy We're not playin, it's not a game