Artist: Ruthless Bastardz Album: Too Raw for Radio Song: 418 Jersey Street Typed by: Cno Evil [Chorus: Apocalipps] When you think of Ruthless? You think Crime, murder, the guns, the streets, nigga, war of the beef When I say 418, you think? Drugs, cash, the thugs, will run, nigga, that's what's up [Apocalipps] Aiyo, wait til they get a load of me, with the Getty gas station hat And a pump to lift up your v I break in your home, bullets be scraping ya dome The four four gets hotter than the straight in they comb Respect my rep, nigga is respecting my left I let all my desert eagles just peck you to death I run with convict niggas that'll max on they bid Since age ain't nothing but a number, I'm clapping at kids So fuck who you is, nigga, you can burn where ya live Them bullets feel like a perm when it's burning ya wig I heard what you did, you was like a worm when you slid I'm in the closet with the guns, when they come in ya crib I'm like a ghetto stock's broker, I can double your cheese Enterprise it on some other shit, and profit with ease Ya'll niggas never had no locks, but still talk about keys When I can flip a brick around in 360 degrees I can make the slowest block just pick up a speed The master of greed, faster than Maurice Green Or faster than me, fast like you running from d's With no stamps on my back, you just cop it and breeze [Chorus] [Iron Mic] Yo, pay attention, I speak for the street All these rappers talking bout guns, there's only a few gripping the heat Listen to me and you will see, how real it should be The block is like the ball court, I ain't missing a beat And so for that, I react like I'm Pistol Pete Put the pistol to your knees, grab the money and fleet And yes, I am a Ruthless Bastard You probably got a gun but you ain't never shoot up the ratchet I'm at the funeral to shoot up the casket, you'se a dirtbag muthafucka Now you lay with the maggots Go to your tombstone, piss on your grave, I talk what I live There's a few, not living today And there's a few things we don't play, so if I give you a bomb You gon' die, if you don't pray And don't fuck with my family, retaliation, I break off the branches on your family tree [Bless] Aiyo, hair chop, Czechloslovaki and rap knocks 52 hot, it's locked, got the game in a double knot Explosion, rock you off a melody Ring the bell without Atlantic, I'm in there Got the drop like hammers Watch 'em scramble like Randle, hand got position handle The street anthem, shit get framed Bypass, you blowing dro in the X5, it's Ruthless, kid Drop the list, see what the fuck I've did Yo, I can't lose, my verbal skills up in the booth I crush you dudes, the corner's is locked, chop his wings Vertical his body, the booth is like the bing I'm a predicate rapper, my darts ring like sledgehammers I'm the cause of collision, so let these Bastardz act up There's room in these mack trucks, yo, throw' em and clap up I'mma squeeze til the trip on the desert, pop my backwards Now flip 'em over, see I hit 'em in his back We more like a wide receiver, see how he caught that? [Chorus] [Truck] That's word to mother, somebody get killed this summer Fuck it, the bigger the gun, the louder the thunder Dig 'em a ditch, while six feet under I thought I told you pa, ain't nothing sweet out here Nigga's starving on these streets, we gotta eat out here This is for 418, bitch, we doing our thing And we known around the way as the Bodega kinds Chase the sound down, like Puffy running the marathon In front of the store, with weed, crack and heroin You move some, you lose some, I was told niggas Respect violence, so I walk with the tool out Truck flipping again, he's about to dome out And your war story bore me, you wouldn't die for your team Like Morgan Freeman did up in Glory So stop acting, there's no room for roleplay Real life shit, man, far from a movie