Real Killa (No Chorus)

[Intro:]
Damn right
Stephen, that's it, that's it, that's it
I’m killing them without even a chorus
These fools be killing' [yo]
Aaaaye, what happened to them?
Warn them, Stephen
'Cause I'm evil
They're dead, they're dead
What happened to them?

[Verse 1:]
They’re tracing like Denise
But when I squeeze the rifle
That boy's frozen, he’s on freeze
Let it rip until it breezes
Gangsters don’t take no leave
Rifle shots bite them like bees

With their one bag of lip, like a lipstick war
Bite on my name, like a biscuit war
Hey punk, let me tell you, this ain't a kids' war
Run up on my gun, boy’s face on tar [see it]
Now the boys are panicking
'Cause they ain't shot a soul, they only kill mannequins
First head pops, he’s vomiting
Unknown rifle clap and he’s vanishing

If you don’t know nothing about a real killa
Let me tell you something about a real killa
Real killa, a lot of chatting, I don’t read in
My dogs are hungry and they want real dinner
If you don’t know nothing about a real killa
Let me tell you something about a real killa
Head drops off and spins like a wheel in
Rifle busts through your shield in

[Verse 2:]
Your friends are your pallbearers, so they’ll bring your casket
Put the body in the spot right where the box keeps
Park the Chinese K, the Russian chopstick
Blood runs out of the boy like when that girl’s sick
No chorus, I’m just sitting, I’m just sitting
Aye, I’m paying, I’m not playing, sitting
Stephen, play the rhythm, don’t delay, sitting
Long time Jamaica hasn’t heard me slay, sitting
Run up on my gun, with the ghost bat behind you
Stuck in a copper and he’s stuck in a copper too
Black blunt rises and bleaches out head blacker too
Rifle rises and kicks them like soccer too
The Gully Gad and there ain't no damn other too
And motherfucker, don’t tell me about your mother too
I’m so mad I’ll murder your brother too
You’re tracing like Dawn and Ava too

If you don’t know nothing about real, real, real blue steel
I’m not talking no cartwheel
Bumhole head spins like my van wheel

If you don’t know a real killa
Let me tell you about a real killa
Real killa, a lot of lip, I don’t read in
Stephen!

[Verse 3:]
Stephen, I sent for you
That’s where the bumhole’s life just ends for
In a war, I get ten out of ten for
I’m mentally crazy, remember
Mad!
What the bumboclaat do to them?
Are they mad like me? Are they mad like me?

When I say sick, I’m not talking sick for public
I’m talking, I’m not even talking mentally sick
I was born sick
Boy starts my gun, never sticks
Those boys just lip
I don’t even have to use my gun, I’ll use an ice pick

So if you don’t know nothing about a real killa
Don’t...