Artist: Iron Mic f/ Beno, Blacko, Bless
Album:  12 Rounds, Vol. 1
Song:   Pop Off
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Iron Mic]
Yo, fucking with Iron, you better be busting ya iron
Whoever say they better than me, muthafuck 'em, they lying
Whoever threaten this life, bet I touch 'em, they dying
And yea the ambulance is coming, but you won't hear the siren
Nigga, I'm speaking to my population, cuz we starving
Like Haitians, don't call me 'cuz', ain't no relation
Gotti ran up in Tone crib, I told him be patient
I gotta go get it Iron, I can't keep waiting
Can't complain on this rap, industry cats keep faking
I said, nigga you right, it's Ruthless for life
And it don't matter, if I ain't got a gun or a knife
Cuz me and G-Real putting crowbar work for ya ice
And so far, I ain't hear nothing that prove that nigga nice
So don't gamble, you will lose, this ain't dice
You'se a wannabe thug, you only talk about the life
And we smash mics on the road to the fast life
And we out all night, ducking the flashlights
When the drama is on, we bucking them, that's right

[Beno]
I done stole these niggas guns, done took these niggas knives
So I can steal niggas souls when I take niggas lives
Beno's wild like an orangutang
So it won't 'em a while to let the hammer bang
So, if I, shoot you in the leg
That's only so you can fall, and shoot you in the head
I will lay you down, like you was seasoning your bed
Fuck fucking with Ruthless, or some stupid shit you dead

[Blacko]
Whoa, you wild and stupid
I murk, you pay your gun for a nick like you Allan Houston
I be damned if I starve today, I put a rest in peace
Over your name like Marvin Gaye
Chump, I get that harder way, so want front
Then I dump one in ya bed like Harlem way
Yeah, my team getting cream til we all dead
Run up on you, gun up on you, beam on your forehead
And after that, it's your back to the pavement
I'm ducking the d's, and the traps for the agent
I still gotta toss those knicks, I floss the fifth
Run up on you, straight scorch your shit
Yeah, put you in the coffin quick, my pops ain't
Even had shit, that's why I was forced to pitch

[Bless]
Aiyo, I smash mics, plus I got the game in the Boston Crab
It's Pop Ya Head Off, my sixteen, smash the booth glass
And I got the crown on my head, I can talk shit
Like you ain't hot, is Bless 2Pac or Biggie Smalls spot
When I drop, it's like reggae sun splash
Plus I shot, or set it off when the sales pop
We got it locked, and with all this hype, tell me right now
Who got the best chop, from the street, to bodega, the butcher shop
Chop, chop, break his ankles for his Reeboks
To take his whip, light up his weed, on some Ruthless shit