Artist: Buddha Monk f/ Popa Chief Album: Zu-Chronicles, Vol. 6: King Monk Song: Gun Them Down Typed by: Cno Evil [Chorus: Buddha Monk] If you got no care for this, I'm gon' gun them, straight gun' him Think about it all the time, makes me wanna, straight slug him [Buddha Monk] Shit it ain't my fault you labels missed out on this I was at the tunnel with you getting drunk and pissed You looking at them superstars who make the Billboard charts? MTV, 106, and Uncut After Dark But a nigga like me low key for the 2-3 Said it with times to set off a new give me It's a shame that you think that you hotter than me How's that? When you haven't even heard from me? Yo, I murder earlier Gods and I murder all of ya'll With simple short flows, just to keep you on your toes Left cut, kidney blows and elbow throws If that's not enough, buckshots to your souls Don't tempt my temptation, or one God under nation What makes one Satan, is ya'll misbehaving A knick knack pack a gat, give a nigga God He's WB11 when I pulled off his charm, believe it [Chorus 2X w/ ad-libs] [Popa Chief] Fuck the jump off, here's the kick off, the tip off Half of thug raps is rip offs Another textbook caper pulled off, mad bodies hauled off And I ain't even brandish the sawed off I blew like a Molotov cocktail, allergic to handcuffs And jail cells, turn the heat up to hell Final prosper, it's gonna be problems If we can't talk about it, slump 'em, fuck 'em Girls if you ain't knowing, I'mma cutter, lay pipe, like a plumber Give it up for the funky drummer Met all my niggas in the gutter, rap's my bread and butter Buy this, cuz I owe all my baby mothers I'm waiting on the perfect pitch, ready to swing I dedicate this to my favorite bitch Mary Jane The gloves are off, no love is lost I do a one hand Superman sea grab, like triple X I blow ya head off [Chorus 2X w/ ad-libs] [Buddha Monk] I ain't sign the dotted line for ya'll to understand me I signed the dotted line to help feed my seed And any cat try to stand in the way of me Guaranteed desert eagle, nigga, cook ya meat And your dudes is weak, you speak like you got plenty heat But when it's beef, you rush to your man for the heat Now shame on a nigga who try to run game on this nigga D.O.A. when E.M.S. comes to get ya You can call your mans, and this my number, kill even better man Divide's eight hundred ways to kill any man Whether at a show, or on the floor for disco I hold the yellow brick road to the land of death row So you can keep yapping ya mouth, but I have I have something that'll tic tac in ya mouth And leave your girl a only spouse And I ain't telling you what's the real plan in this rap game I'mma leave ya'll wondering how I took over this rap game, man [Chorus 4X w/ ad-libs]