Trouble Brotha Lynch Hung (Ft. Doomsday Productions)

[Pit ]
I'm hot enough to make your skin bubble
Packin a Smith & Wesson
Uh oh, trouble, don't say nothin
You can tell that I'm evil
By the arch in my eye bra
But I ain't got no pitchfork
I stick niggas with this sawed-off
Clear your porch
Hit the floor, duck behind your couch
If I don't hear enough screamin
I'm burning down your house
Apocolypse the barbarian
I kill humanitarians
Pillage your village
Slaughter your children
And rape your women

[Eklypss ]
Bustin through that door like dun da dun da
Bitches hit the floor on the double
Bust off a couple
Rounds and let it bubble
In your belly
Bullets dipped in formaldehyde
So when they hit you
You embalmed and ready
To get carried
Buried up in your grave
Trust me, I'm that deadly
Just test me if you brave
Eklypse I stay sick
Eith Pit, Playboy, and Lynch
Kill a bitch nigga quick
And run a train on his bitch nigga