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Ice Nine Kills - Ice Mf T Lyrics

Ice M.F. T Song Lyrics
Ice M.F. T by Ice Nine Kills Yeah! 1993, I'm back motherfucker, this is Ice T. Got my nigga Ice Cube in the motherfuckin house. Yeah! Up here in the ammo dump studios I got my nigga Aladdin, SLJ's in the motherfuckin place, behind the mixin boards, we about to do dis shit like this here! Verse 1: It's goin down tonight in L.A. Microphone blowa Buckshot and uzis spray The bitch checka The ho wrecka Ice motherfuckin T Nigga step to me Cause the Syndicate's throwin that crazy dick But grab ya hoes quick You'll get done up Punk motherfuckers run up Before sun-up We'll have your ass gunned up So what's the color I'm raggin? Been a millionare for years Left pocket's stuffed with the ??? Still saggin .380 in my right so it sags a little bit More than the rest of my gear I empty clips When I'm on tour Bust lips And break jaws When you're talkin to me Cause I love to loc up So punk motherfucker don't choke up Chorus: Ice, Ice motherfuckin T (x4) Verse 2: Bush, Quayle and Clinton got a problem with me: The motheruckin T I give less than a fuck about any of them They'd like to take me out Or their fuckin police friends Make me a goner They even tryin to sweat Time Warner Why? That a lot of motherfuckers are hot For tellin the truth to the youth You can't stop the shock (?) And want police shot? The fires are out But the coals are still hot You tryin to fuck with the Ice I got juice to bring pain Are you insane? This shit is bigger than me Be warned It's the calm before the storm And every fuckin thing I write Is gonna be analyzed by somebody white Chorus Verse 3: Run motherfucker, hide motherfucker, trip motherfucker, die motherfucker You don't give love And you won't get loved You don't push And you won't get shoved No joke I ain't here to laugh I ain't here to cry But every night of the week Eeny meeny mynie moe One of my homies die Blood's pourin out the naps of your afro Could be you It could be you Could be you Could be your whole damn crew It happens real quick Screechin tires Next thing you're hit Your body's cold You feel your chest Your body's hot You gasp for breath You're shot And now your homies is trippin' Lookin for a gat to put they clip in Street crime- That's the thing I bring, Ice T I rap ??? sing They call it controversy I call it truth with no mercy The beats are phat Ammo Dump tracks Not made for squares The kind that make speakers crack Or the weak punks That made the bump trunks Press- I ain't got no more time to waste Get the fuck out my fuckin face A ho is a ho, a bitch is a bitch, a nigga is a nigga And that's it You just makin me backtrack The next duck reporter might get hit with a blackjack Plus I'm through explainin the shit Every one of my true fans Totally understands A nigga like me Chorus (x2)