corrija a letra Letra Head I.C.E Sends Shots por Rare Breed Entertainment

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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 &amp; 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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