Tekster: Spice 1. Busta's Can't See Me.

One eighty seven, the one eighty seven
The one eighty seven, the one eighty seven
One eighty seven, the one eighty seven, the one eighty seven
The one eighty seven, the one eighty seven

One eighty seven, the one eighty seven, the one eighty seven
The one eighty seven, the one eighty seven
One eighty seven, the one eighty seven, the one eighty seven
The one eighty seven

Gi-gi-da gi-gi-da gangsta, gi-gi-da gi-gi-da gangsta
Gi-gi-da gi-gi-da, get that ass if I don't shank ya
Glock shooter, dumpin' 'em up in ditches
Givin' them niggas stitches, smokin' them with the peoples

'Cause ain't no love see I'm just a G
With twin glocks on my side you can't fuck with me
Once again they come at me with that same old shit
Got to show 'em let 'em know I'm not no punk ass bitch

Ready to pop them blood clot and let him feel hostile
S P I C E comin', we gettin' hard to kill
So sit your ass down don't you flinch one inch
Hollerin' at you with this twelve gauge under my trench

Got a whole live bury full of Smith n Wesson
Servin' your ass like salad dressin'
So prepare to catch a hot slug from a O.G thug
Leavin' your bloody body in the mud

Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)
Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)

Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)
Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)

Thought you was my nigga but you set me up
Tried to shut me up, tried to wet me, tried to wet me up
Now I gotta twist your snapple, kill shit up and gaffle
Put a worm hole in your rotten apple

Time for confrontation and I know this
Ex drive through won't give me your exact location
So don't be sleepin' 'cause I'm gon' be creepin'
Cleanin' shit up, straight street sweepin'

My destination ain't too far
As I smobs in my rag top gangsta car
To come and get ya, I'm drinkin' red rum
Don't need a damn thing for the chase 'cause I likes to taste

One eight seven artist
Play your ass like a Sega punches
Back in the game, knockin' out teeths'
Blowin' motherfuckers in Teresa's pieces

Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)
Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)

Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)
Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)

Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)
Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)

Me erupt this rust clot with my f-a-fo'-five don't wanna see me take no lives
Play with the funk, open up your trunk see who survives
I'm servin' the murder by the pound, a hundred and fifty rounds
Shake 'em up like gin and juice then guzzle 'em down

They claimin' this O.G. is a has been but I'll be damned if I let these
Busta's think that I won't pull out my mac again
We can all talk, it ain't no thing to bust
Leavin' your flesh lookin' like it's melted as I raise up outta the cut

Mad man killer, feel me on the realer
Wouldn't bullshit ya homie I'ma cap filler
Ready to handle my business, wrappin' it all in my clip
Blowin' niggas outta eight story windows and shit

So keep your hammer cocked and keep a close watch
For the nine millimeter and a nigga that's makin' your place look stocked
Peel a cap for the funk he did that's smokin' on this BT
Niggas pop at my shadow 'cause these busta's can't see me

Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)
Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)

Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)
Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)

Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)
Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)

Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)
Busta's can't see me my uzi goes bang
(Shame)