Run

[Verse 1: Guilty Simpson]
Okay, Random Axe in the jam with Macs
Quick to let 'em clap like hands to dap
So street, yeah, we do it obese
Straight from the hood, so screw the police
Fuck the law with his cat, rat, dog, raw
The reason that your walk turns jog
The reason that your jog turns run
The reason that your run turns sprint
.38 snub with gloves, no prints
So you can see it in my eyes, I'm so tense
We have no rules, it's beef
Magic, I make a 7 footer 6 feet
If you got problems, get geek
Get beat, get shot, get sleep
Inflict hurt on 'em
Dig that hole and kick dirt on 'em

[Hook: Black Milk]
Make 'em gun, make 'em run
The game is over, game is done
Niggas mean business and nigga you ain't us
Show you how to kill 'em, we changing the game up

[Verse 2: Sean Price]
Listen: skets that clap
I'm the best at that
Quick to stretch cats like wrestling match
Yeah, so ill, Brownsville
Mic Tyson and Riddick Bowe, so what's the deal?
Still one of the best, you ain't on Sean's level
3rd place niggas with bronze medals
Sean is a don rebel
Sipping Chandon with the blonde devil
Anna Nicole Smith, duke, I plead the Fifth
Piff, puff puff pass to no one
Afro American ninja that'll injure your shoguns, P!
Body the best, a lot of y'all stressed
Chill, cop a pill, watch Dr. Phil
Got skills? Chop crills, get guap for real
In the mosque making salat like Akh is ill
Wa'alaikum Salam, I'm breaking your arm
Niggas still hating on Sean, I'm dating your moms

[Hook: Black Milk]

[Verse 3: Guilty Simpson]
A lot of cats talk shit, but don't test the D though
M16's break up teams like T.O
So gutter, ho cutter, 'dro puffer, dough tucker
Fo' bucker, murdering MC's with ice
With my mad man Jesus Price
NYC with the D-E-T
A.D. with the legendary BCC

[Verse 4: Sean Price]
A lot of niggas want to ride or die
Till I shoot up the driver's side of your window
Now die in your ride
Tough talking gets you touched, 2Pac Shakur shit
Went from a thug but now, you not too sure bitch
Akh, I walk with four-fifths and nines
Y'all niggas can't rap, forfeit your rhymes
Four-fifth your mind, .38 your face
And 12-gauge shotty your body
I get cake, nigga

[Hook: Black Milk]