I Get’s Off Brotha Lynch Hung

[Verse 1]
Oh, wait a minute
You know me, nigga, smoke a whole crate of spinach
I'm OG, nigga, OG like Bobby Johnson
And I pack three heaters like Charlie Bronson
You want some? Oh, you won't come
You got sand in your gas tank
Your shit won't run, I'm still hungry where's that last steak
Fuck it, cut out your prostate and work with that
I take the OJ glove, nigga, jerk with that
Spit's that'll crack your back open, they hurt your back
I got problems like COS, don't desert the fact
And the fact is I was the sickest amongst the black kids
Sitting in the corner at 14 and crack lids on the 4-0
4 years later, I'm out the 4-door
Dumping at your afro soon as you pass go
I'm The Last Mohican, I feed off your belly leakin'
I hear what your talking but can't feel what your speakin'
From the Gardens to Creek and all the way from Monday to the weekend
I get high, get drunk, and fuck somebody's sweet lips in the mouth
Catch these fucking hollow tips in the mouth, it's Sacramento's dirty South, nigga

[Bridge]
Yeah
Really don't matter (Right up to your face and diss you)
'Cause I get's off like a motherfucker, you know
And it's real chopper (Right up to your face and diss you)