end up dead. Well, are you ready or not? Cuz here I come. I'm without you, don't you live without. Well, are you ready or not? Cuz here I come. I am
ترجمه: پاپ ایول. آماده یا نه.
3: big pun ] I thought I told you I only rap for the cheddar Keep the mac under the sweater, ready to clap any nigga Whether on stage or in the gutter
right fool, you know who, the mighty Group Therapy The mighty mighty Aftermath brigade, letting all you sound boys know You're not ready to rumble or
fuck that, I'm ready for open hand combat It's the Tomcat And my thoughts are unlimited Inflicted fatal wounds And I'm immune, see a evil society So
wheel column and pop it, we're shoppers I'm about to go and kill for they profit, my pockets Him, me and that nigga bout to stop it why not bitch Grab
Or punch my fist through that naval Cause I'll be damned if this be the hand that rocks the cradle Or push her down a flight of steps I don't care or
pie to the neck Ride or die, if you both nigga, ride to the death I acappella the whole left side of his chest Not retirin, still got that pension pendin Tryin to pop
edge of death ready to jump in It's hard when you can't find love anywhere And just because the rev [unverified] don't really care Pop fo' crack with
a shame I'm to drunk to even aim Denaun stepped in the way and I shot him in his leg It's like bang, bang, bang nigger pop, pop, pop Everybody bustin
Ghetto mamas still caught up in ghetto drama think of Columbine Pop pop, what if it happened to mine? Will I get paid and keep quiet, or say, fuck that
squashed Pull out my glock, cocked, and pop pop Go to jail don't nobody send you mail Hell, I'm ridin' 'til these wheels fall off Or they can take it
shots, set off like we sold rocks {main flow (of mood)} We dealing with narcs and cases Deaths over parking spaces Evil hearts are races, or higher
what you used to be, you was me in ninety-eight Hungry for props, and ready to rock Except your stage show is so weak you always just ready to rot Fuck
spends I give a fuck dolla please or yens ends is ends It ain't hard to tell, thanks to my clientele What you call the root of evil got a nigga livin
off shots, got you clutching ya knot Try to plug up the holes, the blood is gushing alot Put on my brass knuckles, hit you wit a jab or two Now I'
