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"Gutta Boyz" (feat. Sean T) (We gangsta daddy!) [Sean T] Yuh! I'm sippin on that 'notiq the color of Hulk man And the blueberry smoke got a nigga twerkin You niggaz is perkin - so you doin it big? You roll deep but when I see you it's just you and your kids I roll sick, my rims feel like helicopter propellers And my pockets run deep like a Mercer teller Haters trip when they see the whip dippin by The paint on it change like the I-95 I'm just Clyde, without the Bonnie, I got the hollowpoint heat for you niggaz and the po' for the mamis Sean Gotti, I'm puttin an end to camraderie I'm lettin off heat, 'til them eyes get watery Some gon' ricochet, some gon' hit, y'all gon' get 'em Fluids gon' disperse out like refreshin club serum I'm deadly as bite venom but I'm far from a snake I'll hit you up on your birthday while you cuttin your cake [Chorus: The Game] We gangsters nigga; you see the cars, the whips The chains, the fuckin broads we with We gangsters nigga; we'll come through your hood a hundred deep and empty the whole clip We gangsters nigga; we got guns for the beef And my niggaz'll put you under the street We gangsters nigga; so you better watch what you say 'Fore I empty the whole glock in your face [Sean T] Streets is tough, but ain't no hopscotch lines on the ground Just burner shells, and police siren sounds Niggaz know who I am in the town; it ain't a circus But it might as well be, cause you know I'ma clown I'm a terrain boss, I know most niggaz envious dawg And if a nigga owe me change you better give me it dawg If you feelin like you wanna leap, make like a frog You niggaz lame, transparent like Wonder Woman's plane I'm a stunna in this game, a federal figure Blowin doj' in the hummer, 50 K on my fingers I'm like a NASCAR winner poppin Mo' and Bill{?} D-Squad don't give a fuck about nobody else I pull a {?} to contain your whole, clique for hours The end result will probably be, pinewood and flowers So I'll advise you deduct your QP's and powder We gangsters and we jackin cowards (yup!) [Chorus] [Sean T] S.T. nigga D-Squad, G.G.D Don't get it twisted motherfucker yeah we do creep We ride out thug, shit we don't die We lay low like mechanics tryin to fix up rides A lot of cats say I'm sick in the head, when I anger it's on Poodles gon' be up missin or dead I chop haters up, like an old-ass sample Or creep through your village, like Stallone in "Rambo" I'm like piranhas on red meat, I'm on you niggaz You afros? Then I guess I got to comb you niggaz So break bread, when you see me dawg hit the floI'm like a nigga off the X, unpredicta-ble Imitators always hollerin how gangsta they is But got about as much courage as the Lion in "The Wiz" Shit I'm into pullin shanks on you fake Jake cats Me and my burner hold it down man we go way back [Chorus]