Artist: Ice-T Album: Home Invasion Song: It's On Typed by: nemesi_@libero.it Yo, Ice The organization say they can't stay in business with us any longer What you gonna do? [Ice-T] We always knew we were gonna come to this point sooner or later... We have absolutely no option but to move forward. We'll have to set up our own distribution, manufacturing, run a totally indipendent organization and operation. We still got our connections in Texas, Miami, New York, Chicago, Detroit, and soldiers on the street willing to die. I can't put any cut on the product... I just can't live like that. But from now on if any cops get in our way... (5 gunshots) [Ice-T] Turn up the mic dog, so I can get off Find me Charlton Heston and I might cut his head off I'm not to be fucked with Step in the range of my Gauge and get bucked quick Niggas, hoes, I don't know who you are, my friends or foes Smile in my face and plot to kill me behind doors I got a new attitude, no trust Got me in a corner all a nigga can do is bust It may be you There's gonna be a lot of dead before I'm through I'm 'bout to break off niggas who play me and dis' me Try to switch from side to side like they whip me The damage is done Source Magazine, you're the first one {*gunshot*} You try to dis Chuck, Cube and me How the fuck you pick us 3? You punk motherfuckers ain't shit, you're just a bunch of hoes Makin' money off the pros And when I see I get you in my sights I give your ass a story to write Cause it's on It's on [Chorus: Ice-T] It's on motherfucker and you can't turn the shit off Catch you in the streets and your ass'll get tossed Bang! Bang! Bang! Cause it ain't no thang To put in work and watch your head burst **a gunshot** [Ice-T] A lot of fans ain't shit Let me repeat A lot of fans ain't shit Quick to flip if our group don't hit They don't make you nothin but a pop ho bitch And I don't need ya I love to bleed ya All I ever wanted was a real nigga's praise But the sad motherfuckin' fact Is that ain't that many real motherfuckers these days Game knows game I know too many who plays the name And I can make it in the music or the street game I still got hoes that'll work, still got crews that'll hit Still roll with an extra clip And those who think they'll stop me, doubt it Those motherfuckers better think about it You'd best to let me rap Ice back on the streets? You don't want that Cause I break ill And you really after body count the caps I peel, it's on [chorus: Ice-T] It's on motherfucker and you can't turn the shit off Catch you in the streets and your ass'll get tossed Bang! Bang! Bang! Cause it ain't no thing To put in work and watch your body jerk It's on [Ice-T] It's on motherfucker you goddamn right It's on, my royalty cheque, yeah, fool, I write my own I own my own label put my own shit out So no one tells me what the fuck to talk about And all the suckas that said I was through You need to wake up to my view I'm fallen off Ha! Ha! That's a joke! You motherfuckers are still unknown and broke And I'm stankin' rich My fuckin maid lives better than you, bitch So shut your trap When it comes to this level of game, you don't know jacks CIA, FBI, IRS Try to flip us out for sweat But they'll never sweat you son Cause you're broke and you're dumb and you're no threat to no one Them fools don't play I gotta deal with those motherfuckers every day They'd love to get me behind bars They hawk a nigga like I'm Carlos Escobar But in a way I am Been puttin dope on the street for years and don't give a damn So I'm thinkin about them, friend The real motherfuckin gangstas wanna see me end It's gonna end up in a bloodbath, no doubt That's the only way I'm going out, it's on [Chorus: Ice-T] It's on It's on motherfucker and you can't turn the shit off Catch you in the streets and your ass'll get tossed Bang! Bang! Bang! Cause it ain't no thing To put in work and watch your head burst It's on Artist: Ice-T Album: Home Invasion Song: Ice M.F. T Yeah! 1993, I'm back motherfucker, this is Ice T. Got my nigga Ice Cube in the motherfuckin house. Yeah! Up here in the ammo dump studios I got my nigga Aladdin, SLJ's in the motherfuckin place, behind the mixin boards, we about to do dis shit like this here! Verse 1: It's goin down tonight in L.A. Buckshot and uzis spray Microphone blowa The bitch checka The ho wrecka Ice motherfuckin T Nigga step to me But grab ya hoes quick Cause the Syndicate's throwin that crazy dick Punk motherfuckers run up You'll get done up We'll have your ass gunned up Before sun-up So what's the color I'm raggin? Been a millionare for years Still saggin Left pocket's stuffed with the ??? .380 in my right so it sags a little bit More than the rest of my gear When I'm on tour I empty clips Bust lips And break jaws Cause I love to loc up So punk motherfucker don't choke up When you're talkin to me Chorus: Ice, Ice motherfuckin T (x4) Verse 2: Bush, Quayle and Clinton got a problem with me: The motheruckin T I give less than a fuck about any of them Or their fuckin police friends They'd like to take me out Make me a goner They even tryin to sweat Time Warner Why? For tellin the truth to the youth That a lot of motherfuckers are hot And want police shot? You can't stop the shock (?) The fires are out But the coals are still hot I got juice to bring pain You tryin to fuck with the Ice Are you insane? This shit is bigger than me Be warned It's the calm before the storm And every fuckin thing I write Is gonna be analyzed by somebody white Chorus Verse 3: Run motherfucker, hide motherfucker, trip motherfucker, die motherfucker You don't give love And you won't get loved You don't push And you won't get shoved No joke I ain't here to laugh I ain't here to cry But every night of the week One of my homies die Eeny meeny mynie moe Blood's pourin out the naps of your afro It could be you Could be you Could be you Could be your whole damn crew It happens real quick Screechin tires Next thing you're hit Your body's cold Your body's hot You feel your chest You gasp for breath You're shot And now your homies is trippin' Lookin for a gat to put they clip in Street crime- That's the thing I bring, Ice T I rap ??? sing They call it controversy I call it truth with no mercy The beats are phat Ammo Dump tracks The kind that make speakers crack Not made for squares Or the weak punks That made the bump trunks Press- Get the fuck out my fuckin face I ain't got no more time to waste A ho is a ho, a bitch is a bitch, a nigga is a nigga And that's it I'm through explainin the shit You just makin me backtrack The next duck reporter might get hit with a blackjack Plus Every one of my true fans Totally understands A nigga like me Chorus (x2) Artist: Ice-T Album: Home Invasion Song: Home Invasion All right! When we go up in this goddamn house all I want is the motherfuckin' kids! As far as pops I don't give a fuck what you do... Bust him in his motherfuckin' head! If he got any money, take it! If there is money there, rob the motherfuckin' joint! As far as moms bust her in her goddamn head! Dumb bitch, that's the reason we're going up in there! She don't know what the fuck she's talkin' about! Everyone get back, this is a rap jack I'm takin' your kids' brains, you aint gettin'em back With a move of perfection, my dissection Some call it lethal injection I'm gonna fill'em with hard drums Big drums, bitches, hoes and death, come on and get some I'm not the nigga that you want to leave your kids alone Cause I got my own opening-dome kit And once again I'm gonna put them under my fuckin' spell They might start givin' you fuckin' hell Start changin' the way they walk They talk, they act, now, whose fuckin' fault is that? The home invader... Yo, moms you can basically just suck my dick! This is a home invasion... Yo, pops that shit you talkin' is noise! Word! You full of shit! Check this out, moms, I said time bomb And they sit in your house and remain calm Till you feed'em lies and the flip Start talkin' crazy shit (Fuck you!) Might call you and pops a fool Tell ya that's why they hate school Been offensive and askin' questions Give your brain indigestion Why? Why? Because I have indoctrinated the youth Yhey're mentally intoxicated with truth So they know the noise you talk are lies Pretty damn soon they'll be by (I'm outta here) They listen to me and i give'em the real And every night caps get peeled And every night a ho gets smacked A fool gets jacked Now, whose fuckin' fault was that? The home invaders... Yo! Yo! Yo! All that shit you taught me, mom, was full of shit! Know what I'm sayin'? How the fuck you gonna tell me to run my motherfuckin' life? Bitch! You dont even know who the fuck you are! You talkin' about you don't like rap, you don't like how I dress! Yo! Fuck you and pops! I'm outta here! Both of y'all can kiss my ass... All cops want me, so does the F.B.I. Because my rhymes are fly They still tryin' to stop m,e shut me down block me Make motherfuckas boycott me But that will never happen, it's impossible I move straight through all obstacles They say I'm fuckin' up the minds of little kids But half of my fans are in college P.M.R.C. suck my dick, please You can kiss my ass while you're on your knees Word! You're listening to the verbal assassinator E's the crossfader, your factual updater Until your cranium grows like uranium Hard as titanium, parents, I'm blamin'em For teachin' you lies about life, racist viewpoints And other trite bullshit they learned back in the day While I learned about death from an A.K. But they'll never quite understand Bam, bam, bam, no gat is the Walkman Boom, bash, yeah, yo, it's goin' down Me and Ice Cube are in town But the fuckin' pigs cancelled the concert They're just scared of some niggers that do work What they do? What did I do? Just say truth motherfucka and it's comin' through I tell you what we did: we stole your fuckin' kids The home invader... All right! we got the motherfuckin' kids! We outta here! C'mon... Artist: Ice-T Album: Home Invasion Song: G Style Intro: Yeah! Right about now motherfuckers is layin for a nigga like me Ice-T to bust some freestyle shit... but I don't do that I just cold lounge up here at the Ammo Dump with my nigga Alladdin, SLJ, LP and my nigga Henry G Yeah, we do the shit like this Verse One: The card after the ace is deuce So cut the nigga loose on the 3 That's me The motherfuckin T I got ride on my surfboard Rhyme hard But only buy the shit that I can't afford That's everything That's why I truck big fat rings Cause in the motherland gold is for kings I got backup To jack up Punks who try to act up Do a world tour Watch the big bank stack up Motherfuckers get dropped with the quickness I got an ill left and a right fist Make mistakes and you'll lose Or you might die Cause I'm the wrong Ice for your bruise And that's no lie Meanwhile the penile is stacked to the top with my niggaz Mostly for squeezin triggas I call em homies Pigs call em crooks So I write and put bucks on they books I give a fuck about a cop or a G-man They all talk shit Their breath smellin like semen I catch em in the alley all alone Put em in the prone Pop! Pop! Pop! To the dome Chorus: It's the G-style Gangsta style Verse 2: G Style, The gangsta talk I got a teflon .9 And it eats vest I take a motherfucker out quick Just for talkin shit Ride Rolls Catch hoes like a mitt LA, Atlanta, New York Yo, my shit rocks Chi-town, Miami, Detroit I get much props Because I roll with the hardcore G Every street's the same street to me I don't bullshit I don't quit Writin a rhyme fit KKK pray each day That I get hit Motherfuckers try to flip on the Icepick Move and slip Close the eyes and catch a fuckin clip Not in the ghetto no more But I do hang Got a black game And it's sittin on them thangs I kick the game from the street Not the slamma Tighten up my knockas with a big lead hammer Chorus Verse Three: Some of the times I write my raps with extreme speed Some of the times I take the pen and make pads bleed My mind clicks to Homocide Bullets fly Ladies cry A lot of people die Some nights I can't right Stare at the blue lines I think I'm a go blind Then the beat becomes me Sit in the dark And write a whole fuckin LP G Style, the gangsta talk Never near soft Hard as a knockout bout It's no sellout I keep crime in my rhyme Cause it's my thing Packed with guns And drugs And lots of street slang A-B-C-D-E-F, and LAPD Words from a motherfuckin OG Ammo Dump pumps the sounds that you bump in your trunk So turn it up punk What'cha fraid of? What'cha made of? Pull the pin Set the grenade off Blastin sounds out ya jeep On every city street, nigga Straight gangsta beat Chorus Verse Four: Many like to dress the style, and act hardcore Many motherfuckers are and they crack jaws I like to lay in the cut In a nightclub Don't smoke bud Drink suds But I gets loved, mack, cool I scope the freak with the mad backs Hit her with the gangsta style Cool, relaxed, bam Put her in the Benz Bump Too $hort, let her know Right off the top, what's my sport You think long You think wrong You got it goin on, baby doll? But I won't sing you no love song You either love me Or you don't You're either rollin tonight Or you won't She likes the style Cause it don't bullshit around Tounge in my ear, real slow And then it went down I gotta flip into a ill mode Pack a clip full of hype tracks And then unload Music for the hardcore beatdown No weak pop shit Strictly underground And if you don't like the style, as I get wreck Ease back nigga, catch a knife through the neck Chorus