Shady Times

[Intro: Web]
What's happenin'?
Some of that old gangsta, leave a nigga in a ditch type shit, you know?
Yeah
We players but we gangstas, too, nigga
Mac Dre and Young Web finna put it down in a real way
Check it out, check it out, check it out

[Verse 1: Web]
Have a seat, grab a blunt, relax your back
I'ma about to kick some facts to make you feel that you've been jacked
I attack, at any cost, without no means
Packin' AP-9s, AKs with infrared beams
It seems some kids up in this game need to be taught a lesson
Nigga, one suggestion: let's call together a funk session
'Cause when I bust, I bring major pain
Keith Sweat would wanna cross out in my type of rain
Nigga, my lyrics is something make the others fear the reputation
I'm bustin' with a sensation that'll leave you in devastation
Fry like bacon
This money I'm takin' to fill my pockets
Fools be tryna stop but I be blowin' up like rockets
Your arm sockets, legs and waist stay left
The only thing this nigga about to meet now is his death
The point I'm makin' potna is don't test me 'cause I'm packin' a .380
Motherfucker when times are shady

[Interlude: Mac Dre]
Yeah, Young Web, niggas ain't knowin'
It can get real funky around here, you know?
So goddamn drastic after I hit a nigga with the plastic, right?
Nigga, I hung that fool off the Carquinez while that gun fell off me and I'm sideways
Yeah, straight gangsta shit, nigga, nigga, nigga

[Verse 2: Mac Dre]
I'm a scrilla getta, that'll kill a nigga about grits
And I'm quick to trip and slip on my mitts
And put hands on a snake if I peep some scandal
Beat niggas up just like Frankie Randall
If I can't handle, that ass from the shoulders
That's when I dash and get the pistola
You didn't know a player had G shit in him?
Well, send a nigga at me, I'll put three clips in him
So goddamn fast and won't leave one clue
And be cryin' at the funeral just like you
I thought you knew, fool, when it comes to this
Gangsta type shit, niggas run from this
I got stripes, stars, bars and medals
For puttin' in work doin' dirt in the ghetto
I'm a O.G. and a H-O-G
A motherfuckin' hog and they don't wanna see
My vicious tactics 'cause shit gets drastic
Leave 'em bleedin' and blasted, ready for a casket
I'm real with it, and love to ill with it
You trippin' off Mac Dre? Then potna let's deal with it
The 707 North Bay soldier
I thought you knew? I know somebody told ya

[Interlude: Web]
Yeah, I know somebody told yo' punk ass
Never no Cutt will lie when the drama flies
Just gon' be homicides 'cause we makin' some mamas cry, you know?
So go get your black dress, bitch, yeah
Because we flowamatic when countin' C-notes, sucka
Gettin' scrilla

[Verse 3: Web]
These motherfuckers best'a recognize that I be packin' the ammo
Like Commando, then I'll light yo' ass like a candle
But I'm Rambo, up on a mission up in the jungle
To knock down a couple of stables and get 'em for they bundle
I made 'em crumble, from the parts that I pack
Bustin' with M-16, Calicoes and Macs
Automatic gats, that's what I use to kill all gang
They send in Web 'cause he's trained, when I'm let loose, I'm insane
There's blood stains, 'cause I was blowin' up shit from the start
I takes my steps, was smellin' death and lookin' at body parts
Does this sparks, but I'm the only nigga that lasts
Puttin' body parts up in caskets and burn 'em all down to ash
Stupid ass bastards
What you tried to do was unforgettable
Your gun's quiz was death and it wasn't even that damn difficult
Nigga, tryna send your damn lady
Web and Dre be packin' .380s when times are shady

[Interlude: Web]
Yeah, when times are shady it goes down
I got my pen foul, the crowd's runnin' wild 'cause the guns *pow*
It's the AP with the 50-round clip and these fools can't get with me
Young Web causin' fatalities, nigga, when it gets drippy
Shitty committee, sucker

[Verse 4: Mac Dre]
My style is foul, I break laws, never legal
Glued to the track strapped with my Desert Eagle
Servin' them suckers, a motherfucker start drama
I might let him live but bust a cap in his mama
Yeah I'm a player, player, but players play with bitches
When it come to them trick snitches my trigger finger itches
Ready to peel a cap off a punk ass, drunk ass
Nigga startin' static, take his life and his punk ass
Dre is a killer, drug dealer, ex-convict
Suckers say I'm sick, some drop dimes quick
'Cause I'm an ill nigga and ill niggas kill niggas
Who alert the 5-O and the money gettin' real, nigga
Takin' out cousins, even steppin' to nieces
Send 'em to the grave now they restin' in pieces
I'm 5150, a stone cold J-cat
Jackin' motherfuckers so my pockets they stay fat
Rappin' ain't shit but a slow grind, so I'm
Hittin' licks quick gettin' rich in no time
Ask about my work and they say "He gets green"
Runnin' up in shit with his AR-15
The Mac named Dre is a big fool, sick fool
And if you ain't down then suck my dick, fool
I don't give a fuck about a nigga or bitch too
I run with a big crew, and yeah, they sick too

[Interlude: Web]
Ha ha ha ha, yeah
Y'all put that down
Let them suckers know how it go in that big Bay Area
Pimps, players, rhyme-sayers, gangstas and big bankstas
Suckers, stay back, 'cause you know we stay strapped
Yeah, this is Young Web comin' at that ass for the 9-motherfuckin'-6
This is for all the motherfuckin' Crestsiders, the real riders
To my motherfuckin' cuddie Young Nico

[Outro: D-Con]
That's right, that Rompalation, this D-Con, fool
And that shit is hoodrat party for your mind, nigga
Yeah, can't fuck with this, or get enough of this
1996 punk bitch
Mac motherfuckin' Dre is back through here, tearin' shit up
Lettin' them suckers have it
Ha ha ha, fuckin' aliens