lirik lagu m child - point em' out take em' out
[m-child] [chorus x2]
we them thugs from the south (south!),
’bout to turn it out (out!).
we them thugs from the south (south!),
’bout to turn it out (out!).
we them thugs from the south (south!),
’bout to turn it out (out!).
point ’em out, take ’em out,
point ’em out, take ’em out.
[m-child]
who i be, m-c-h-i-l, motherf-cking d,
erase the motherf-cker who be talking about me.
point ’em out, take ’em out, we do it so easily,
everybody know the clique is the kamikaze i.e.
everybody know i’m from my hood that they come o.m.p.,
while my n-gg-s count they money while chiefin’ on brocolli.
keep a pistol on my hip for you b-tches with jealousy,
quickly, d.i.e., my n-gg-, they history.
mc mack and scan man, we taking over the land,
with a gon’ madd plan, the b-tches don’t understand.
’cause doubt it all time, eliminate who i can,
take you b-tches off the earth, sink ’em like f-cking quicksand.
it’s whatever down south, hoe,
check out my new alb-m, hoe.
n-gg- with that atom, point ’em out and take ’em out, hoe.
kamikaze n-gg-s down for w.a.r.
ride up on you with some heat, ’cause a b-tch you never ball,
take ’em out, n-gg-.
[chorus x2]
[nigero]
shooting them things at your head, no one has shot ch’n-gg-,
nothing but high-bullet lead coming out of them b-tch’ triggers.
roll back, that nigero, they get to mind a building,
stealing you b-tches lives, n-gg-, blood spill,
i’m n-gg- of the blood sport, inside short, n-gg- rough ride or you,
forty-four calibur, this you gon’ happen to,
stumble on yourself when you enter my zone,
or cross my path of blood bath, feel my force,
my rap bunking round after round, low-down, dirty sucka’ thug,
blood-shot red eyes, realize you ’bout to get slugged.
the mug, the chest, to back, this boy just come back,
annihilation, you’ll get connection, killed when i come back.
now whippin’ those step in this direction; you getting murdered.
point this n-gg- out, i’m in the mood to put some hurt or some punishment,
on the suckers, reruckers to motherf-ckers, in the misdemean.
lay down, n-gg-, you history.
[chorus x2]
[m-child]
that microphone, you need to drop it,
to a n-gg- that’s gon’ rock it,
keep the club bouncing-jumping,
until money bounce out they pockets.
quit tripping off your face, kamikaze in the place,
best believe me all about a million dollar paper chase.
ain’t no n-gg- stopping, you can try your opportunity be free,
why you n-gg-s off the memphis streets be always muggin’ me?
just because you finally bought a chevy and some gold teeth,
now you claiming killa’, but bentley, you still a hoe to me.
[nigero]
n-gg- be the first to disperse those so just sit back and shiva’,
fearin’ this kamikaze n-gg-, scared to h-ll of sh-lls i deliver.
no need for no mess, on the game show, my ident-ty..
it’s personal, get off your knees, hoe; that was some diggity.
quit swinging, shakin’ pacin’; what, you nervous? you restless?
you gutless, you heartless, i might as well make you chestless.
the richest world will get your ribs lost and filled,
with bullets; make a move, get killed, n-gg-.
[chorus x2]
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