Artist: Leathafase Album: Dog Will Hunt Song: Lionheart Typed by: pneumatic [Chorus: Leathafase] Get that money man, Stay G'd up Keep your gun cocked, Blow that weed up Get that gwap stacked, Flip your re-up Look at you now kid you got that lionheart Play the block hard, Go get your sneakers scuffed Keep your knife sharp, Apply deep cuts But go against mine, Your Swiss cheese'd up Slow your speed up, I'll send you to meet your maker [Leathafase] I fire flames in the flesh, Call me the human torch My music got dirty South thugs busting off the porch Turning out clubs, Love feel the stallion's force Suck me off, They use my DNA source for lip gloss Big boss you aint hard, Your image a mirage A Maybach in your video when you don't own a car I'm live'r then a Rolling Stones guitar in concert Pop powerful revolvers that makes my arms jerk My beautiful artwork, Collages and sculptures Authentic handcrafted by the head of the vultures Shot dead in your loafers with that suit and tie rap These bars a lot of heroin son, I provide that The thirst of Blade mixed with a Venus Fly Trap When a cardex hear the voice of a drug dealer through wire tap So I retired to rap before my empire collapsed With me on the front page wide firing gats [Chorus] [Leathafase] It's Leathafase cocking, With that strong arm journal With metaphors that burn through your Sean John thermal This beef doesn't concern you, Don't get drafted in the war Or get cut like sheet rock, Then plastered to the wall Into a casket your hole, From your rise to fall Got aired out compared to a deflated basket ball As the madness falls, I rain Hell on the Earth Counting my shells incase I have to put in extra work The flow is berserk, You receive lacerations on your face From intense lyrical fabrications My classifications, Marked to be the best A hole the size of a dinner plate where your heart used to rest Target the flesh, In the cross hairs on the scope The use your blood for the ink in every line that's wrote I got the illest pen movements, Kill you with one stroke Then call you pin cushion man after your lungs get poked [Chorus] [Leathafase] Thug I'll silence your mug, With an Idaho spud At the end of the barrel it's lights out, Your plugged I got an army full of Bloods, And an army full of Crips That get it pop'n and crack'n, Plus I dump my own clips Pump all my own strips, Breathe breath into your lungs I may live by the guns but I'm a Father to my son Not honor'n some young individual to go kill But everything I write I did, And if I did then I will Skills are matched, Rap with explosive devices attached To my mouth, One spat I blow your head piece back INF-Black on my right, Desert Eagle on my left We stay strapped for the fight, To lethal inject death Disrespect my set, Shells burst through your chest Then scatters your flesh all over the T.V.'s in your head rest This is the end of the stretch, Here to produce stacks Mental destruction, Under the production of costa tracks [Chorus]