Thursday, March 31, 2011

“Make Em Say Uhh!” Verse II: Fiend

Fiend exercisin his right/rite of exorcism, bustin out the Expedition
Bullets choppin haters’ business to about the size of prisms, our mission
They heard we scary, No Limit mercenary
No tellin how bad it get, because the worst’ll vary
Myself, Ricky “Fiend” Jones,
Is exercising my Second Amendment right to bear arms,
While also performing the Roman Catholic practice of exorcising demons!
We are hurriedly disembarking our
Ford Motor Company’s Expedition-brand full-sized sport utility vehicle.
Bullets fired from my firearms are tearing holes in naysayers,
Until the naysayers are disintegrated into piles of gore!—Which is our very mission!
Those naysayers previously heard tell that we are frightening.
I am a particularly militaristic member of No Limit Records.
There is no telling what damage we may incur,
Because the worst of our wrath will vary naysayer by naysayer.
I heard you make ’em worry, that this for the loot
They intimidated by the rounds that a tank shoot
Tank Dogs salute! Every robbery in store, ’cause they know
Everything Fiend know, mean mo’ money, mo’
I have heard rumors that you, my nemesis, are threatening in your own right,
Or that all our loggerheads merely concern remuneration.
They are intimidated by the rounds that a tank shoots.
(A tank being the emblem of No Limit Records –ed.)
No Limit friends and family—“Tank Dogs”—let us salute ourselves!
Every robbery is forthcoming, because the general public knows
That everything I, “Fiend,” know, revolves around increasing my coffers.
Little Fiend still want the greens, the cornbread and the cabbage
In your hood, remindin you bitches of who the baddest
Definitely the maddest, so the crime gon’ stick ’em up
My ungh went twice (ungh, ungh)
And ended with nine, get ’em
Oh, little old me! I still want money, money, money
—Not to mention delicious Southern Cuisine staples!
I am in your neighborhood, reminding you petticoats that I am the absolute worst.
Also, I am without a doubt the most insane,
So the crime is going to be a game of “Stick Them Up.”
I said ungh! not once but twice: Ungh! Ungh!
And I finished my grunting with a report from my nine millimeter handgun.
Get them!

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