Letras
Ba-bom, boom, aoowww, heh
I`m blast the cold blast, I`m back to cold blast
*scratch* from the Squad tower
(Yo don`t erase that intro!)
*whistling*
Chorus: repeat 4X (with variations and Hit Squad shoutouts)
I represent the hardcore rough rugged and raw
The PMD the mic`s my only friends
[Chorus
Verse One: PMD
I grab my cordless like my nigga DJ Scratch is on the cut
Hit Squad on live, PMD`s like what (what?)
I`m too rough, gettin snuffed all in the cut
Get with the rugged raw shit, catch a nigga in the gut
Cause I`m Blass and niggaz ass stay gear with the Hilfiger
Timberland boots, Rolex, whip a Benz
So throw your hands up in the air like you don`t care
Chickenheads swingin from chandeliers in they underwear
That`s that be -boy shit, grab your big dick
Crack a 40, spark an L and get bent shit
Three eighty by the hip in case a nigga slip
Don`t like beefs or jealousy fucks?
It`s mass confusion niggaz losin by the minute tryin to win it
But thanks to hip-hop, yo Scratch spin it
Chorus 1/2
Verse Two:
Yippie-yi-yay, yippy-yo, it`s the, slow-flow mechanic
Mass confusion is crusin just start to panic
and you don`t stop, got the Hit Squad backin me
Spark your L`s, honies sip your daquiri
Ask for P, my mission in to get richer and
lost my other half but I still got my Fisherman
hat, it ain`t over til the fat chickenhead catch
wreck, snap that bitch neck
I show and prove niggaz best to move slow
The P the Mic Doc (c`mon) the micraphone`s my only
friend, can`t even trust nobody
Cause next thing you know I`m fuckin bustin somebody
My shadow got my back and that`s the way it goes
Keep my eyes out for foes and remain on my tippy toes
Respect my flows then release it for the brothers
One to hundreds, the fuckin certified top gunners
I keep a close knit quick to roast click
Bout to pull shit, a few dimepieces if the hoes fit