# a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z

Versuri Cross 'em out and put a 'k
- Westside Connection

Ai! Ai!
In about four seconds, a gangsta will begin to speak.

Well it's the mad chickenhawk with the dirty lick style
And pullin 211's ever since TAA-DOOW
There's ten million ways to die
Choosin Mack and hit the boopin floosin
Off this gang-bang music
So all I'd wanna got the room stumped
I'm smokin, make dough like Trump
Cookin?? to they chunk, punk!
Straight off dust, nigga trust I bust
And cross em out and put a'K if they ain't down with us.

It's off the hook, nigga, I'm a Westside crook, nigga
The forty motherf***n dollars on my books, nigga
I'm not an MC, I'm not a G
I mean I'm A-to f***-Z and everything in between
Rappers like gangbangin cos I'm in it to the fullest
And my hood ain't never dodgin bullets
It's all about the Bloods and Crips, no one tri-ips
Colours and dips, bitches and chips, nigga!.

What's this my?? low-grader system
That takes puff B-I-itches on the premises
Nigga be dissin on a down low
So now my motto's: "***k every rapper from the East and the West Coast"
New School, Old School, I hate you motherf***kers
I'm steady plottin, cracklin my a*s wit'cha album covers
Cross em out and put a'K
Then no Saint days, nigga, then run the f***n holidays.

[Chorus 3x: Ice Cube, Mack 10, WC]
'Ey! I Cross 'Em Out and Put a 'K!
Nigga! To South Central L. A.!.

Goddamn nigga! This s***t make me sick
All these West Coast cowards ridin New York beat (Brrgh!)
Busters get sprayed wearin high-top fades
And Cango's backwards with dark-a*s shades
No switchblades, nigga, we shoots
That's how it is on the West when you're true to your roots
So kill the action, punk, hootchie bitches clown
Nigga get your sag on and keep your pants legs down.

Check it! Ho shut your mouth and get naked!
I'm Connected and ain't no bitches singin on this record
No R&B tracks, just niggas on wax
Kickin facts with these gang-bang raps
Every nigga in the industry wanna rap with me

Like it's all good, you ain't from my hood
Nigga, I don't even like your s***t, I don't like your form
I'm true, your through, nigga F***K you!.

Nigga get off, this s***t is wacked
F***k that, I bust you in the can with a motherf***n propajack
Spit on ya, s***t on ya when I get on your p***l
You're goin up and your f***n cos I ain't lovin none of ya
And even the female rappers are gettin smacked
Stabbed in the titties and kicked in the back
Cos I'm a westside Connection hista
Bored from a lover dishin nothin but (? foolers?) and dirty rubbers.


In about four seconds, a killa will begin to speak.

Now you can cross out the busters and snitches
B-Real and Miss Muggs is like Hollywood bitches
From the niggas I know in the streets I run through
Swear to god bitch, real it ain't one dog and no (body)
So watch what you say, who ya talkin bout, ya tweakin
And keep hogs out'cha mouth when ya bitch a*s is speakin
I'm sick wit it, cappin'cha dome till I hit it
This Westside Connection, Cypress know they can't f***k with it.

Use to get kisses and hugs, now I'm servin ya slugs
F***k B-Real and Muggs, y'all niggas ain't no f***n thugs
Be all surprised, everybody dies
From Columbian neckties covered with fright
Ya f***n maggots, ya f***n faggots
I shoulda hurt you, every motherf***ker that I know wanna hurt you
So when I pull my spray-can to spray
I'm sprayin C-H-K all motherf***n day.

I once knew this bitch by the name of Q-Tip
Who claim he had a problem with this gangsta s***t
Behind closed doors, runnin his mouth like a trick-in
Till this nigga bout the name of Dove caught him slippin
Tied his a*s up and threw him in the truck
Put an apple in his mouth and dug his a*s out
I?? lead him then down his body stashed
In a trash bag with a cue-cover in his a*s.


Don't go chasin waterfalls
Stick to them dicks and balls you're used to
Punk a*s motherf***kers!