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The Obituary (E.B.G.G.)

de Hell Razah

(Intro: Hell Razah (Bambue) (7th Ambassador)
B.B.P., in the Bronx, B.B.P. (Yo, uh) (what, what)

(7th Ambassador)
My commitee of six'll sick in the flip
Switch in the nines, and pull out knives
Hit the five boroughs at one time
We really never like being confined
That's why we speak about trees in our rhyme
That type of shit, eases our mind
In a everyday struggle, in the jungle
Hash was a hustle and niggas be bad to touch you
If you don't have the muscle in this modern day, cash or trouble
You heard Biggie's ass rebuttal, the Mo the Money, the Mo the Problems
More ways for me to solve 'em, more gats keep revolvin'
So what you talkin'?, you ain't doin' nothin' but offerin'
My little shorties a coffin, claimin' you a master of a world you lost in
Down the mean streets, BX to Compton
Who you crossin', dunn get caught walkin'
On the wrong side of the margin, when shit spray
Like somethin' they made for dodgin'
It's all big rims, you mean to floss it

[Chorus 2.5x: Hell Razah (Bambue)]
Bitches come, bitches go
Never trust a ho
Business Before Pleasure, cuz they out to get ya dough

(Niggas come, niggas go, fuck all ya dough
If I'm a bitch and I'm a ho
Then I'mma go and get my own)

(Hell Razah)
On the block, crack spot watch in front of the cops
He made careers outta corners for his Rolex watch
Up in clubs, straight lick-up, past bitches and sons
Every Sunday at the Tunnel takin' pictures wit thugs

Shorty lookin' in my face like she fallin' in love
Yea, I eat meat, close it 'for the chew in the cut -a

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