I'm that misfit,
I ain't on that club shit,
I'm on some pull, cock, and bust �shit,
Make the crowd run,
And gun down the first�cat that trips,
Extra clips, playing lead tag,
And y'all kids are it.
The type to be in the back hall,
With my hands on my balls,
Waiting for someone to size me up,
Cause y'all cats just aren't that tall,
The type to follow you from the club to your wip,
From the wip to your crib,
From the door to the floor,
From greedy to give,
Your adventures short lived.
Making herbs O.D. off their medicine
Yo,�I'm redding them,�and deading them,
Fake cats with no real plans,
Except living in a broke down van,
And being nothing, doing nothing,
with nothing, but�smoking coke plans,
When�I come, if you can't run,
You homo thugs should hold hands.