Artist: Dom Pachino f/ Chapel, Crunch Lo, Haxaw, Trom Album: The Grunge Song: Hurt 'Em Typed by: Cno Evil [Intro: Haxaw] Yeah, yeah, aiyo, Chapel, man I told you man, we gon' hurt 'em, man Haxaw, 7 O.D., Up the Block Entertainment Ja-mal, let's go... bond official, yeah Come on... [Haxaw] What the fuck you looking at? Bitch ass niggas Screwing your face up bad, Staten Island right here, nigga Put a bullet in your right ear, nigga You want a problem, it's your lucky day, I'm right here, nigga Capital H, a lover or hate, huddle your eights Crushing like grapes, they feathers to me, dusting like drapes When it, come to these papes, me and mine, we gon' get that Click clack, black semi autos where you ribs at, now Show me where the shits at, yeah, usual My dogs gotta eat, I ain't talking bout oop and ooh I get food for crew, my gun games beautiful Do the dew, endanger who, and don't lose a clue For the pick-up, or the dogs'll sniff up Call a bitch up, let her know I want a dick suck And it's me, so 9 times out of 10, she with it I don't just talk, I live it, lord forgive this [Chapel] Yo, I spit rhymes high, I smash your dumb baskets Pardon me God, these shine thugs ratch Zip you up around shot, we know you chilling with your ratchets I'mma tell you right now with all the facts We veterans, you're amateurs boy, get to practice Definite your squad, time to size to what's on crack This is hoe shit, my word up, yo, I'm the captain Organized clan, spit danger crazy actions Sparks out my mouth, thug rhymes like car attraction It's fighting in the rap world, living out my passion Destroying M.C.'s, in a Polo Russian fashion Dodging from the plain close, starving past flashes Try and take us down like a bunch of plane crashes Hide yourself quick when the guns come passing Dutch got me seeing the world, in higher graphics Haxaw, Trom, and Crunch, we fantastic [Trom] Yo, I keep the forty auti, with the beam on the top, with me Breeze off in the Benz, zero sixty, and too quickly When I'm tipsy, I'm too shifty, especially when I got a Couple of goons and them tools with me, you wilding out Run official, I show you what Staten Island about Run up in your house, throw the gun in your spouse Get the money out the wall, and the bricks out the coach, quick Hog tie the witness, throw the gag in his mouth Definetly match the hats, it's the dad who out the back door Hopped in the V, yo Chap, push the pedal to the floor Where we headed? Back to Stat, quick, jump on the Van Wyck While I roll the L and celebrate, we caught an ill vick' Spark the la, peep the dicks in the side view Just switch to the right lane, and cats can past through Dip in and out of traffic, I stash the bricks in the ratchet Chase adrenaline rush, I gotta have it [Crunch Lo] I grab mics like a handle on the big revolver Break bread at the table, with Capos and Godfathers Crunch Lo, nigga, this is certified illy Them words out the mouth can get you smacked silly I'mma beast with the vocab, you soft as a baby ass Attract to the mass and niggas whose ghetto fab Trash talk studio thugs, sucker for love Get a buck and some change across your pretty mug Or we can, jump around and hopskotch and box After you get dropped, my dudes throwing them shots And we gon' hit something, hard body, from the body West Brighton niggas is known to crash the party So Beneen, so we scream to justify the means The work is hard white, the smoke is light green Fifty eight for the fiends, the gin to rape this queen We hit moving targets, cuz we got inf' beams