Krayzie:
My nigga, let’s get P.O.D.’ded [P.O.D.’ded, P.O.D.’ded] . . .
[So high, so high am I.]
. . . reefer and blunts is all that’s needed [needed, needed].
[So high, so high am I.]

Krayzie:
Slow down, make it too smoky for you, baby. Fucked up–look at you faded. I am what I am as a thug in the Land, and
that’s all that I am. Damn, you better come join this thugsta party. Blunt smoke up in your body. And come get high, get high.

Krayzie:
My nigga, let’s get P.O.D.’ded [P.O.D.’ded, P.O.D.’ded] . . .
[So high, so high am I.]
. . . reefer and blunts is all that’s needed [needed, needed].
[So high, so high am I.]

Layzie:
Let’s all get lifted. Split the Swisher, quickly twist us up a fatty. Now, I’ve been smokin’ out all day long, P.O.’d in the back of
Krayzie’s Caddy. How in the world did I manage to smoke this many? About a hundred, man. Feel it all in my stomach. To
the brain severely blunted, and it ain’t no shame off in my game. Hydroponics and Indonesia, even the stress sometimes be
creeper, so pass me some reefer, want to receive, ah. Little Lay, givin’ you what you need. Nothin’ but the best green leaves
with a pocket full of cheese, gettin’ P.O.D. [P.O.D.].

Krayzie:
My nigga, let’s get P.O.D.’ded [P.O.D.’ded, P.O.D.’ded] . . .
[So high, so high am I.]
. . . reefer and blunts is all that’s needed [needed, needed].
[So high, so high am I.]

Wish:
I be so high, feel high. Forgive me Lord, but I feel like the weed be blessin’ my soul [soul, yeah]. Got to smoke that sticky,
smelly stuff, but I just can’t get enough. Smoke it, hit it, pass it to the next man. Let him choke, smoke but don’t hold on; don’t
hold on, on. No, no. And if you smoke it with me, yeah. Then, I’m a smoke it with you. Y’all, we can smoke it all up. We
can smoke and get ba-. We can smoke it all up. We can smoke and get ba-, ba-, ba-, ba-, buzzed.

Krayzie:
My nigga, let’s get P.O.D.’ded [P.O.D.’ded, P.O.D.’ded] . . .
[So high, so high am I.]
. . . reefer and blunts is all that’s needed [needed, needed].
[So high, so high am I.]

Bizzy:
P.O.D.’ded that’ll get me in my seat. Hennessy and I ain’t too young to be that poetically, here to believe that I get brave, and
all on my way, in a daze, me puff puff on my reef. Got a blunt for the thugs and hustlas. Ain’t no bustas in the Mo Thug game.
And it gets me out of all miseries. Follow the benefits, stay in place. As long as we reach, put up the fist and flip and pray. I’ll
be done, when I reach my own. Stay free; let the time go pass me by. Stay high, I’m P.O.D.’d. P.O.D.’d.

Krayzie:
I smoke on nothin’ but the best of buddah. Ooh, yeah. Get the blunts and weed. Fuck the Hennessy; let’s focus on these
leaves. Reefer really relax my mind, and ask me one more time [time]. Get a split up, keep it lit up. Can you feel us? Get with
us, smoke with your nigga. Somebody told me [told me], you better respect the sticky leaves, sticky leaves, sticky leaves.

Krayzie:
My nigga, let’s get P.O.D.’ded [P.O.D.’ded, P.O.D.’ded] . . .
[So high, so high am I.]
. . . reefer and blunts is all that’s needed [needed, needed].
[So high, so high am I.]

[Krayzie]
Yeah, Bone Enterpri$e in tha muthafuckin house, nigga!
Yo, y’all muthafucka’s that didn’t think we was comin’ out
Check this shit out: I got my nigga Layzie Bone in the muthafuckin’ house
Bizzy Bone in the muthafuckin’ house, Wish Bone
And the muthafuckin’ bomb is in the muthafuckin’ house
We gonna do a little something like this…

Yeah…Now Krayzie Bone has got the gun
So let’s proceed with lychin’, yo
My uzi weighs a ton
So now you know what I’m bitchin’, ho
The weapon is kept in inside the trunk of the 9-ball
Put triggers on niggas
In rivers, that’s where they find y’all
So drop to your knees
That’s the position, assume it bitch
You slip and you’re soon to get
Fucked up by a lunatic
Decide to pack a gat
Well that’s the way I prefer
Your forty-four might do damage
But see my streetsweeper’s much worse
My shotguns are cocked
Make sure you’re stayin’ in line
Me twenty two is no fun
So let me play with me nine
I’m steppin’with the Enterpri$e
My only army brigade, and if I drop
Then I just throw this like a hand-grenade

[Bizzy]
You see no pistol’s in the holster
Watch the dot’s on your forehead
I’m gunnin’ while you’re runnin
And there’s plenty of bloodshed
There’s no sympathy over killin
I already warned you
You crossed the path of a maniac
So now you’re a goner
Don’t ever step up in my face
‘Cause stupid bitch, you’ll get served
Get on my dick, and stop steppin’
I’m startin to loose all my nerve
Your thirty-eights, your forty-fives
Ain’t doin’ shit to me
Punk, ’cause once you’re disabled
Believe you’re gonna get stomped
‘Cause you ain’t nothin’ but a ho, and of course
I hope you get smoked. I put a gauge to your throat
And it is murder Bizz wrote
See, I’m unloadin’ while you’re foldin’ on your niggas
The usual, doublecross me
And I’ll bet that I’ll be laughin’ at your funeral

[Layzie]
Now, see, I’m robbin’ and killin’ and stealin’
Makin’ a dope-dealin’, that’s what I do daily
‘Cause Layzie gotta make a livin’
And I don’t give a damn
I take your life for what you got
If you got what I want, then you gonna straight-up get shot
A bullet to your forehead, there be a couple more, bitch
Yeah, I perp like I’m your nigga just to get your ass misled
That’s when I rolled up in your house and take your shit away
Thought you had a friend, but I’m a nigga gettin’ paid
Real swift, here’s a gift, comin’at you is a bullet
The psychopathic nigga on the trigger, they gotta pull it
And I ain’t never had no gratitude
Layzie Bone be crazy killin’ with a ganksta attitude
Buck, The Enterpri$e is breakin’ ’em down
Me breakin’ ’em down, man
Bump the Enterpri$e is breakin’ ’em down
Me breakin’ ’em down, man
Me breakin’ down, me breakin’ down
Me breakin’ down, man
Wish Bone, come down, man

[Wish]
Now we hittin’ niggas up, and we ain’t comin’ cheap
You wanna jump? Feel froggish, muthafucka, leap
We gettin’ drunk, start shit, drinkin’ sixty-four’s
I brought a liter. Where’s your posse?
Smack your fuckin’ ho. I got your bitch on my dick
Because I’m here for my cap down
When steppin’ through C-Town
You better be strapped down
The bigger my trigger
The deader your nigga is found on your doorstep
So how do you figure that you’ll be the one
To unload in my fuckin’ chest
So when you catch me steppin’
I got the weapon that is kept in on my hip and
Why you trip and find your clip
And tell your bitch to suck my dick
Wish Bone’ll pop that ass quick, fool
Don’t try to fuck with this ganksta attitude

Buck, me breakin’ ’em down
Once again me breakin’ ’em down
Krayzie Bone, come break ’em down
Krayzie Bone come break ya down

[Krayzie]
I’m steppi

[Sirens blaring.]
Layzie:
Fuck the police. Fuck the police. Fuck ’em . . .
Krayzie:
Surprise.
You’re muthafuckin’ right.

Krayzie:
Yo, fuck the police, comin’ straight from the underground. A young nigga got it bad ’cause I’m brown and not the other color.
Some police think they have the authority to kill a minority, but muthafucka mad, ’cause I ain’t the one for a punk muthafucka
with a badge and a gun to be beatin’ on and thrown in jail. But we can go toe to toe in the middle of the cell. Fuckin’ with a
nigga, ’cause a nigga turned major, and got a little bit of money and they play us, search a nigga car, lookin’ for a product,
thinkin’ every thug nigga sellin’ narcotics. They’d rather see me in the pen, than me blowin’ indo rollin’ in my Benz-o. I send the
police to the grave, and when I’m finished, nigga, bring the yellow tape to tape off the scene of the slaughter, still gettin’ swoll off
bread and water. I don’t know if they fags or what–search a nigga down and grab on his nuts. And on the other hand, without
a gun they can’t get none, but don’t let it be a black and a white one, ’cause they’ll slam ya down to the street top. Black police
showin’ out for the white cop, but Krayzie Bone will swarm on any muthafucka in a blue uniform. Just ’cause I’m from the
C-L-E, the punk muthafuckas are afraid of me, huh. A young nigga on the warpath, and when I’m finished, it’s gonna be a
bloodbath of cops dying around my way. Yo, bitch, I got somethin’ to say:

[Sirens blaring.]
Layzie:
Fuck the police. Fuck the police. Fuck ’em . . .
Krayzie:
Surprise.
You’re muthafuckin’ right.

Krayzie and Layzie:
Fuck the police and Bone said it with authority, ’cause the niggas on the street is a majority, a gang, and it’s whenever I’m
steppin’ that a muthafuckin’ weapon is kept in the stash spot for the so-called law, wishin’ Bone was some niggas that they
never saw. Lights start flashin’ behind me, but they scared of a nigga, so they mase me to blind me, but that shit don’t work. I
just laugh, and plus, it gives ’em a hint not to step in my path. The police, I’m sayin’, “Fuck you, punk.” Readin’ my rights and
shit. It’s all junk. Pullin’ out a silly club, so you stand with a fake-ass badge and a gun in your hand, but take off the gun, so we
can see what’s up, and I’ll go at it, punk, and I’m a fuck you up. Made ya think I’m a kick your ass, and drop the gat, and
Bone’s gon’ blast. I’m sneaky as fuck when it comes to crime, and I’m a smoke ’em now and not next time. Smoke any
muthafucka that sweats me and any asshole that threatens me. I’m a sniper with a hell of a scope, takin’ out a cop or two.
They can’t fuck with me. The muthafuckin’ killa that’s mad with potential to get bad as fuck. Now I’m a turn it around–dig in
the clip, yo, and this is the sound: [Two Gunshots.] Yeah, somethin’ like that, but it all depends on the size of the strap.
Takin’ out a police will make my day, and the niggas like Bone, don’t give a fuck to say . . .

[Sirens blaring.]
Layzie:
Fuck the police. Fuck the police. Fuck ’em . . .
Krayzie:
Surprise.
You’re muthafuckin’ right.

Layzie:
I’m tired of these muthafuckin’ jackins. Sweatin’ my thug, while we be thuggin’ in the shack and shinin’ the lights in my face and
for what? Maybe it’s because I’m kickin’ so much butt. I kick ass, nigga. Maybe, ’cause I blast on a stupid-ass nigga when
I’m playin’ with the trigger of an uzi or an AK, ’cause the police always got somethin’ stupid to say. They pull out my picture
with silence, ’cause my identity along with my groups causes violence. It’s Bone with the criminal behavior. Yeah, I’m thugsta,
nigga, but still I got flavor. Without a gun and a badge, what do you got? A nigga in a uniform waitin’ to get shot by me or one
of my niggas, and with a gat it don’t matter Check out more Lyrics from Bone Thugs N Harmony. 
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Layzie:
East Nineteen ninety-nine, my niggas . . .
Think about back in the days when the year was eighty-nine. Little nigga on the grind, gotta get mine, doin’ my crime with (two
in here), steady stackin’ my ends, put my serve down on the Clair, Nine-nine. Hittin’ up the Graveyard Shift with Will, Lil Will,
Big Wally, and Wish Bone. Little Wally highrollers, and he wonder why niggas so strong. Krayzie Bone, stack right, take
much love, kept a nigga on his toes in the game. It’s an everyday thang, when you let your nuts hang, gotta make a grand at
least daily, man. Them Cleveland hustlas, never no bustas. Thug to the Heartbeat of niggas from the Land, fool, and the old
school. Just serve out your sentence and be cool. Fuckin’ with trues, Rest In Peace, lil’ nigga Ripsta, stressed that Bone love.
Smokin’ on bud, ’cause a nigga Mo Thug callin’ all my niggas when it’s time to nut ’em. In the nine nine, niggas gonna drop to
the #1 with the gun, so run run. Cleveland is the city where a nigga come from, slangin’ them dum-dums.

Krayzie:
Niggas it’s goin’ down, up in the C-Town, get ’em up with the thugs [thugs], and that nigga with the bud [bud]. Get the fifth of
Rose, but the liquor store closed, and I’m all out the forty. Blaze up, nigga. Burn up the buddah, smoke it all up. Nigga, don’t
stiff on the reefer. Bone runnin’ up outta the cut with this fresh sack of hydro, and this shit is creeper. Peep the street, bust
again on Double Glock-glock with a me rocks. Cops sweatin’ me by. Copper better drop when the gunshot pop blood,
dumpin’ the body, and the bullshit stop. Whenever the trouble knocks with the po-po, niggas roll solo, split up, and swerve,
Krayzie take caution. Take all my llello and tossed it. See none when they roll to the curb. Runnin’, duckin’, jumpin’ up in the
Land. My niggas, it’s Krayzie. We slang and we buck and we bang on the Glock, and my nigga, that’s daily. Who the nigga
with the twelve gauge? [Pump.] Mr. Sawed-off Leather Face, so ya better pray. Eternally thugsta. East Nineteen
Ninety-nine, we roll for the devil.

Bizzy:
Gotta give P’s to them SCTs and (I roll thick), thug on the Glock. Pump, blast for the cash, then I’ll mash the gas, gotta dash
away from them cops. Got Lil’ Mo! Hart steadily flippin’ off Rose. Rippin’ up flesh with six blows. Rest, that thugsta, yes, I
pump slugs, and I be druggin’ ’em off in dumpsters. Fuck them po-po. Bloody they bodies they burn, burn. And I guess that
hood’ll never learn. Gotta dip (both in ones and) sherm. When I ‘m on a mission for my city, bigger niggas be bailin’ out with
me. Roll up the window, me wind blow, fuck with my indo (and that in a me). Even though the barrels of me twelve gauge are
empty, me scandalous niggas up outta the woods, buckin’, no fuckin’ with the family. Now feel a nigga, understand me. Much
love, much (buck) for them St. Clair thugs. East Ninety-nine is where you find us, slangin’ me muthafuckin’ drugs.

Flesh:
Done, done, leavin’ the niggas stunned, cockin’ pop with a me gun. The lead’ll be letting they head off, and I gots to have (?).
Leavin’ ’em hung, breakin’ fakin’ your studio-gangsta bitch, trick. Niggas that get picked. I’m hittin’ the shit, and I split in the
midst of the darkness. Consider me heartless. Oh, yes, Flesh, me runnin’ a ho check. Better check your Rolex, your time now
for givin’ up respect to them SCTs from C-L-E. We’re scandalous nigga that dwell, hail off on the far side, and bail, leavin’ the
trail of the bloody victims. The fifth dog maulin’ ’em all, and never them catch me slippin’. And sippin’ a fifth of the wine, and
niggas be dyin’, and steadily trippin’. We flippin’ the scripts on over, see the Bone’ll be never saw, but niggas told ya, triggers
showed ya. East nine-nine, five soldiers.

Wish:
Murder one, redrum, try to run and get away, but it’s justCheck out more Lyrics from Bone Thugs N Harmony. 
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Welcome to the darkside.
Backwards (Shatasha): It’s the thuggish ruggish Bone . . .
Eazy-E: Eternal. Eternal. Eternal . . .
St. Clair, niggas [niggas, niggas].
[Laughing. Scream. Thunder.]
Backwards (Bizzy): Gotta give it on up to the glock glock, pop pop, better drop before them buckshot blow. The Bone in
me never no ho, so no creepin’ up outta the ziplock. So, Sin, sip gin, and Lil’ Mo Heart run up, nut up, and flipped in, then
slipped in the clip then, mistakin’ they bloody victims. ‘Member to test nuts . . .
[Explosion.]
Buck! Buck! Buck! Buck!
[Laughing.]
Right back at your muthafuckin’ ass comes those real true thugs staight of the Double Glock, puttin’ it down for the muthafuckin’
Land, takin’ no shorts, no losses, puttin’ it on these jealous, bitch-made, playa hatin’ ass niggas. You better tell me what’s real,
bitch. Takin’ over shit in the nine five, I bring to you the one and only, Bone thugs-n-harmony.
Nigga, this St. Clair [this St. Clair, this St. Clair].

Layzie:
Yeah, nigga.
Krayzie:
Execution double nine style, steadily fillin’ them bodies underground.
Bizzy:
Nigga be all about that llello bankroll. Bet I make that money, man, then roll, put it on the dough, but I beat up hoes, and I peel
’em and bang. Gotta get them demons off me, creepin’ up softly, seepin’ up through my soul, and sleepin’ ain’t good til dawn.
When I’m alone, and I’m dozin’, bet I watch the door, then I won’t be slippin’, sleepin’. Lovin’ the thugs I bails with, but a trail
of twelve gauge shells, blood’ll be spilled, one-eighty-seven and a two-eleven. Twelve gauge and an AK-47 spray. Lil’ Ripsta
killa now, put ’em off in a grave–they lay with a slug stuck all up in ya. When I roll with realer niggas, pop, pop. Drop to the
sound, hit the ground, then I’m up to kill ya.

Krayzie:
Them St. Clair thugs, we love when they pumpin’ them slugs, now what, see the blood from the scum, when I dug them
enemies deep in the mud. They drugged. I roll with them trues. Snooze, you lose, end up on the alley floor fucked up. What’s
up with them shoes? Ooh, they new. So we runnin’ off with my dog’s Chucks. Bust a left at the block. Hey, what do ya
know? Oh, no, the po-po–they follow. Copper gotta see the nigga layin’ but can’t escape, but nigga, remember my motto:
me no surrender. Gotta get away, hit the fence with the quickness, hit the other side, and I swang to the ride, rollin’ through the
cut, hit ninety-five. Peel, bailin’ for safety we make it and chill, gotta make a mill, better not get caught for real. Nigga, drop
that bill, or I pop my steel. Ain’t no competition, don’t fuck with my click, and so listen you bitches that trippin’ so get when we
stickin’ then lickin’ them pockets. So drop that dollar, man. Gotta holler, bang. Fuckin’ with a thug nigga smokin’ blunts.
Nigga, don’t stiff on the weed, smoke it all, ’cause, nigga, you know when our pockets get (?) I’m a run and get a sack, and
come choke, choke, choke.

Layzie:
Now you’re fuckin’ with these thuggish killas, creepin’ up outta the Land, and they ready to ride, gettin’ high off thai. My niggas
in the Land got glocks for days on the nine-nine. But I kill ’em all, dog. Bet Layzie don’t fall with the twelve gauge eruption on
niggas, so what now? Come, nigga, get buck, pow, and not only that, get shut the fuck down. And I’m talkin’ about niggas
that wanna contend with them thugstas. Some niggas done fucked up, never no playa haters in the click’s allowed, and we
never no bustas. Never catch a nigga sleep, hear the buckshots rang where the thugs in Cleveland dwell. Daily collectin’ me
mill, and I’ll meet you in hell if all else fails. Oh, well.

Krayzie:
Execution double nine style,
with Layzie:
steadily sendin’ that body underground
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