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Artist: Dom Pachino f/ Chapel, Crunch Lo, Haxaw, Trom
Album:  The Grunge
Song:   Hurt 'Em
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Intro: Haxaw]
Yeah, yeah, aiyo, Chapel, man
I told you man, we gon' hurt 'em, man
Haxaw, 7 O.D., Up the Block Entertainment
Ja-mal, let's go... bond official, yeah
Come on...

What the fuck you looking at? Bitch ass niggas
Screwing your face up bad, Staten Island right here, nigga
Put a bullet in your right ear, nigga
You want a problem, it's your lucky day, I'm right here, nigga
Capital H, a lover or hate, huddle your eights
Crushing like grapes, they feathers to me, dusting like drapes
When it, come to these papes, me and mine, we gon' get that
Click clack, black semi autos where you ribs at, now
Show me where the shits at, yeah, usual
My dogs gotta eat, I ain't talking bout oop and ooh
I get food for crew, my gun games beautiful
Do the dew, endanger who, and don't lose a clue
For the pick-up, or the dogs'll sniff up
Call a bitch up, let her know I want a dick suck
And it's me, so 9 times out of 10, she with it
I don't just talk, I live it, lord forgive this

Yo, I spit rhymes high, I smash your dumb baskets
Pardon me God, these shine thugs ratch
Zip you up around shot, we know you chilling with your ratchets
I'mma tell you right now with all the facts
We veterans, you're amateurs boy, get to practice
Definite your squad, time to size to what's on crack
This is hoe shit, my word up, yo, I'm the captain
Organized clan, spit danger crazy actions
Sparks out my mouth, thug rhymes like car attraction
It's fighting in the rap world, living out my passion
Destroying M.C.'s, in a Polo Russian fashion
Dodging from the plain close, starving past flashes
Try and take us down like a bunch of plane crashes
Hide yourself quick when the guns come passing
Dutch got me seeing the world, in higher graphics
Haxaw, Trom, and Crunch, we fantastic

Yo, I keep the forty auti, with the beam on the top, with me
Breeze off in the Benz, zero sixty, and too quickly
When I'm tipsy, I'm too shifty, especially when I got a
Couple of goons and them tools with me, you wilding out
Run official, I show you what Staten Island about
Run up in your house, throw the gun in your spouse
Get the money out the wall, and the bricks out the coach, quick
Hog tie the witness, throw the gag in his mouth
Definetly match the hats, it's the dad who out the back door
Hopped in the V, yo Chap, push the pedal to the floor
Where we headed? Back to Stat, quick, jump on the Van Wyck
While I roll the L and celebrate, we caught an ill vick'
Spark the la, peep the dicks in the side view
Just switch to the right lane, and cats can past through
Dip in and out of traffic, I stash the bricks in the ratchet
Chase adrenaline rush, I gotta have it

[Crunch Lo]
I grab mics like a handle on the big revolver
Break bread at the table, with Capos and Godfathers
Crunch Lo, nigga, this is certified illy
Them words out the mouth can get you smacked silly
I'mma beast with the vocab, you soft as a baby ass
Attract to the mass and niggas whose ghetto fab
Trash talk studio thugs, sucker for love
Get a buck and some change across your pretty mug
Or we can, jump around and hopskotch and box
After you get dropped, my dudes throwing them shots
And we gon' hit something, hard body, from the body
West Brighton niggas is known to crash the party
So Beneen, so we scream to justify the means
The work is hard white, the smoke is light green
Fifty eight for the fiends, the gin to rape this queen
We hit moving targets, cuz we got inf' beams