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Head I.C.E Sends Shots
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Rare Breed Entertainment
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Letra
I was thinkin' bars, state prison, no Xanny packs Takin’ a horn of A. Ward to preach to those disrespectin' my old records - the Grammys back I saw his gang and started cavin' they chest (Chess) in with bullets Don’t hand me straps They like, “I.C.E, why the f**k you start shootin'?” I saw Chef Trez walk up wit' his fanny pack My gun off the market, under the carpet After that trip back from Africa From a small town, I brought long rounds I could Clips vs. X-Factor him “I.C.E, why you ain't take Snake Eyez?” He lazy and wandering, a bad pupil Plus the Dots wanna spoil duke The wandering eye - one lookin' at you, and the other one is lookin' for you Oops! (Ooops) Don't get caught at the light, bet We'll lay in your neighborhood and try to whack (Wack) 100 b*t*hes comin’ for my riches and record labels It’s part of the Game You don't need to show up in trial to see that one comin’ The kite came down from Art to kill, they want the art to kill (article): pages I book more than Barnes & Nobles, ain't no one hard to kill - thank us I'm out yo' league: major You got ink beauty marks, the way P Q (cue) the card about to read, “Save us!” “I.C.E, these old dirty b*st*rds like Klan members, hand gestures We need you to black back for our Roots: ancestors” Why can’t we leave? My chain sawed (chainsaw) You'll get dropped if I barked at your whole family tree Fathers, doin' life and 20 for murderin' they wife and sidekick, Busta Cut the foolishness That's why I keep it mellow (‘Melo) on the yacht after LaLa havin' a wet dream - who Ludacris? What drive is you on? The press from that last call, you can keep that Suburban b*t*h I fire, you gone (Yukon) She should start actin' like she knew Jack (New Jack) I'm Nino, b*t*h: I'll buy me a new one Cancel that ho Blow a candle and handle that smoke Guerrero vs. Mayweather: let ‘em hear the pops before you put your hands on that rope! Right in the ‘zack You gon' get two popped (2Pac) without a Haitian hirin' Jack Though the profit, not even a c*ckpit can take you higher than Jack! We in plain (plane) sight, get yo' aim right Some of my targets ain't get killed ‘til they showed up to a gravesite! So you're waitin' to see I.C.E (ice) time get the Patek or the perpetual Rollie I'm from the checks, and the best of them know me You n***as rap like you prepared for critical condition Well, who gon' take care of the vegetable homie? I.C.E!
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