Artist: Dom PaChino (P.R. Terrorist) f/ Black Fire Album: Dom PaChino: Unreleased Song: My Right Hand Typed by: CnoEvil@Wu-Lyricz.Com [sample] Hey Leroy (what?) Your mama, is callin' you man [Intro: P.R. Terrorist] You better find out what the fuck she wants, son Terrorist is in town, you know how we get down, son Ya'll niggaz play too many games with me... yeah [P.R. Terrorist] Melodic tunes, bangin' off walls and mic rooms Excite goons, with my mental excite, provide the boom Write all night in my cacoon, til I hatch An awful moon, well awaited by my fans, the album is coming soon Abnormal birth, never spent no time in the womb Trees and liquor confumed, til my names in the tomb Autograph signed, with the imprint, I'm hard to find Wouldn't even fake my death, I got way too much shit on my mind Last night's crime, how it went down, no one around Had the silencer to muffle the sound, a culture pound Shit was ugly, my brand new Jordan's was lookin' muddy That's what happens to fake niggaz, posin' like they my buddies What a snitch, I put the cat on to gettin' rich His whole dress code, slang that he use, to bag a bitch Was fathered by me, gave him knowledge to know, and I succede Shit for what it is, but trick knowledge was used against me Now he's left in the cold, like arms lookin' for sleeves On the witness stand, singin' 'nigga please' You was my nigga, now my sweaty finger on the trigger I remember, all the shit, we've been through together Now it's over, too bad you signing off soldier, I'm out Ya'll niggaz is snakes just like a cobra [Chorus 3X: P.R. Terrorist] You my right hand, my nigga who fights back to back When the shit's on, make it out safe, split all the stacks [P.R. Terrorist] (Black Fire) When you bustin' shots out the window, who drove the Ac'? (When you was pattin' niggaz down with the mac, who watched your back?) When I was on the block countin' the stack, who cooked the crack? My right hand, my right hand, my right hand, my right hand [Chorus 3X] [Black Fire] I spend nights, rest in Al Pacino's crib Layin' on the living room floor, hurtin' up ribs Tossin' and turnin', thinkin' of this bitch I was burnin' She wasn't learnin', not enough money I'm earnin' [P.R. Terrorist] Yo, get off the floor, if you wanna earn somethin' Stop frontin', nigga, money don't grow on trees That's why I keep my nine millennium, hooked under my sleeve Plus momma always said, the'll be days like these That's why, we robbin' still, stickin' up kids for they cheese [Black Fire] Love burglars, crooks tooks it in the N.Y.C Two the hardway, just about the sickest M.C.'s [P.R. Terrorist] In your continent, in your state, in your city International, nationwide publicity Me and my right hand, millionaire simplicity [Chorus 3X] [P.R. Terrorist] You was my right hand, til you broke the code of silence Now I'm left with no choice, gotta resort to violence Heat out, mud of my feet, I heard the sirens Jetted off, ran out of breath, drunk from a hydrant Poison blew, I got guns too, let's start the firing So I can really see, where's your heart Get blows, story told, watch me rip 'em apart You ain't that smart, act like you mastered the art Of Tera Iz Him, but yet, there's one lesson to learn If you go against the God, and Black Fire, you burn [Outro: Black Fire] PaChino, thou shall never betray I'll shall slay, any enemy that's headed your way Word..