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run - guilty simpson lyrics

[verse 1: guilty simpson]
okay, random axe in the jam with macs
quick to let ’em clap like hands to dap
so street, yeah, we do it obese
straight from the hood, so screw the police
f-ck the law with his cat, rat, dog, raw
the reason that your walk turns jog
the reason that your jog turns run
the reason that your run turns sprint
.38 snub with gloves, no prints
so you can see it in my eyes, i’m so tense
we have no rules, it’s beef
magic, i make a 7 footer 6 feet
if you got problems, get geek
get beat, get shot, get sleep
inflict hurt on ’em
dig that hole and kick dirt on ’em

[hook: black milk]
make ’em gun, make ’em run
the game is over, game is done
n-ggas mean business and n-gga you ain’t us
show you how to k!ll ’em, we changing the game up

[verse 2: sean price]
listen: skets that clap
i’m the best at that
quick to stretch cats like wrestling match
yeah, so ill, brownsville
mic tyson and ridd-ck bowe, so what’s the deal?
still one of the best, you ain’t on sean’s level
3rd place n-ggas with bronze medals
sean is a don rebel
sipping chandon with the blonde devil
anna nicole smith, duke, i plead the fifth
piff, puff puff p-ss to no one
afro american ninja that’ll injure your shoguns, p!
body the best, a lot of y’all stressed
chill, cop a pill, watch dr. phil
got sk!lls? chop crills, get guap for real
in the mosque making salat like akh is ill
wa’alaik-m salam, i’m breaking your arm
n-ggas still hating on sean, i’m dating your moms

[hook: black milk]

[verse 3: guilty simpson]
a lot of cats talk sh-t, but don’t test the d though
m16’s break up teams like t.o
so gutter, ho cutter, ‘dro puffer, dough tucker
fo’ bucker, murdering mc’s with ice
with my mad man jesus price
nyc with the d-e-t
a.d. with the legendary bcc

[verse 4: sean price]
a lot of n-ggas want to ride or die
till i shoot up the driver’s side of your window
now die in your ride
tough talking gets you touched, 2pac shakur sh-t
went from a thug but now, you not too sure b-tch
akh, i walk with four-fifths and nines
y’all n-ggas can’t rap, forfeit your rhymes
four-fifth your mind, .38 your face
and 12-gauge shotty your body
i get cake, n-gga

[hook: black milk]

- guilty simpson lyrics

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