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Artist: Dom Pachino f/ Bugsy, Live Brim
Album:  Tera Iz Him 2
Song:   Gun Money
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Dom Pachino]
Aiyo, the game's over, the break's over, you fake soldier
Go skate posers, we roll heavy in range rovers
Address me general, now, I'm not the same soldier
Always was a leader, man, always directed
Show them how to move, and they always respect it
Good looking little nigga, man, they never expected it
I organize gorillas like a zoo keeper, my vocals get deep in your speaker
We on these streets like sneakers, on they feets like kicks and snares
Everywhere you look we there, don't be shook and scared, when it's crooks appear
It's our music that we want you to hear, yeah
Such a good hood mentality
Whoever thought making music will make a good man a salary
Nigga I been eating good, check my transfat
My Dow Jones and my NASDAQ, check my ASCAP
I like a little junk in the trunk, my bitch's ass is fat

[Chorus: Dom Pachino]
Gun money, bail out my dun, money
No honey for hookers that act money
Show money, keep getting your dough money
I don't want it if it's slow money
Fast money, have a blast, money
When it's all gone, you be looking back in your stash
Looking back in your stash, homey

[Live Brim]
I'm the worm that's in the rotten apple, to bring here to spit it at you
Ass mold that read it asshole, without the tabernacle
Lyrical Constantine, just ask Neo
Even if he know, my flow is swish without the free throw
In the war, quick to reload, and let three go
I keeps a sawed-off shotty, right under the peacoat
Yesterday I went grenade shopping, pull the concaction
For these niggas that plotting, I back out that Dirty Doctrine
Spit the twos, you fucking with some dudes that's quick to spit the tool
Then act a fool, my niggas is starving, tell 'em to smack your food
Smashing fools how Cassius do, bash 'em with a jab or two
From Castleton Avenue, yeah you know just how the savage do
Lavish crew nigga, so quit talking bout who establish who
Cuz the kid conduct ceremonies, just like a pastor do
Blast your shoe, knee and piece swerving up in the faster crew
Fuck around, Taliban, nigga, that ass is through



G-O-D up in your atmosphere, like Buzz Lightyear
So I'm coming through the hemisphere, the forecast is not clear
To population living in fear, Kennedy curse your fam
You niggas know who I am, Bugzini nigga
Scientic, prolific, the soldier's back on a mission
Get rid of fake MC's with no resistance
Rid of your existance from point blank distance
Rid off all that evidence, forensics can't trace it
My gun the beehive, the bullets be the Killa Beez
Ready to swarm, pull the trigger, kill instantly
I melt the mic, with my lava like fluid
Or the cobra with that poisonous venom, I'm so ruthless
I hold mics like gravity, holding the nine planets
Unleashing verbal comets, take control of your plane
Invade the cockpit, you trapped in my daily orbit
Your life, I'm taking on it, should be MC's cornered
Now hand over your gun money, bitch