Pitt Mobb Freestyle 2

[Movie sample from "Training Day"] "Go 'head and bounce, homey, get up out of here. We got ya back." "What?" "It's like that" "Oh no you didn't! Wait a minute.. no you didn't! You disloyal fool-ass, bitch-made punk! You think you can do this to me? Who the fuck you think you fuckin wit?! {*GUNSHOT*} OH SHIT!" [Intro: Solomon Childs] Uh, yeah, time for me to do this, man (fuck it) uh [Chorus 2X: Solomon Childs] This for them gangstas, stick 'em up You want money? Get it up You want bitches? Have 'em strip for it You want the top? You gotta work for it [Solomon Childs] You could do what you wanna do, but say what you wanna say Betray who you wanna betray, but don't have come looking for you This is dedicated to them gangsta rappers Slash gun packers, slash hoe mackers Reality check, you phony, soft as cooked macaroni The homey's back, please, let me murder 'em homey With that war paint on your eyes, like it's some kind of baseball game Shame shame, make believe, street credibility Imposters, street crimes, imposters of the graveyard grind All of a sudden everybody wanna talk about the guns they got How many cats they popped, how much bank they took How much juks they caught, how much coke they pushed How much bush they stabbed, you a bitch, nigga We ain't never heard about you on your own block We know about you on your block, you ass Come get me if you really think it's real Come on and find me if you really think it's real We want blood for this shit for real [Chorus 2X] [Solomon Childs] You go by watching me, we don't watch you You front about the things you do... See you ain't gotta perprate no fraud for me Cuz your time is up, out with the old, in with the new Murdered by repertoire, kill no matter who you are I'm ready for the scandals, West Brighton, Staten Island Murder capital, nine millimeters, aligator, leather handles This what it sound like, when the enemy at your doorstep Look in my eyes, rude boy, I wish you would flex I will murder all eight of you bitches, man I ain't playing with you bitches, I'll come out the realm, hair dripping I haunt you like the little girl from The Ring It's like you want the world with venom And you can taste the sting, Solomon King My trigger finger, itches like I got athlete's feet on my palm Staten Island, broke in again, sound the alarm Soldiers of Viet-Kong, B-Town, ya'll hear it Word to motha, keep on fronting and you spray it out, New York City climax The lights out, lights on, nigga lights off for you What you gonna do? Come on, nigga, uh... come on