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​Young Guns

This song is by Guilty Simpson.

G.S. boy
O.J. Simpson

Listen, do your research
My name rings bells on heavy block
You're lame, you're splash in the game was a belly-flop
I'm a grouch, boxing rappers like a kangaroo

Heater in my pouch, throw away under my couch
Crooked and mad, you disrespectful
Mutherfuckers is cooking with gas

Bon appetit, I go at your streets
With aggression, the same way I go
At a beat and wreck sessions
Then shoot a load on your freak in best western

She's a hotel rat, I'm the shit bitch go tell that
Yeah, I hit it in the telly and came on the belly
And remixed the celly, I left no tracks

When your bones go crack I ask "It hurt, don't it"?
My hobby is to body every one of my opponents

I put 'em in their best clothes, family members crying
Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
Put you on death row, hood sentence, good riddance
O.J. Simpson muhfuckers

You can't save everybody
So I handy on another shotty
And vow to never let a rapper stop me
They copy, but take it as a hobby

Timid, while I go get it
That's right, who's sucker-free, no more drama
'Cause these motherfuckers got no honor okay

I'mma put 'em in their best clothes, family members crying
Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
Put you on death row, hood sentence, good riddance

I'mma put 'em in their best clothes, family members crying
Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
Put you on death row, hood sentence
Good riddance, yeah, good riddance

They couldn't hold a candle to the rhyme catalyst
Detroit Rap, Blunt rap with a Cali twist
Madlib keep skunk, all flavors for the smokers
O.J. Simpson, game over, the slang dojo

Black lungs, I could rob these rappers with a cap gun
Prolly, pistol-whip foes till they groggy
Forever young even when I'm gone, get CD and start at one
And recapture the life, it could have been a disaster

Instead you hear victory, in every chapter
The gutter gave birth to a hip-hop savior
But even above all about my paper
Dope enough to be an urban legend
But real enough to do dirt and hide a murder weapon

I'mma put 'em in their best clothes, family members crying
Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
Put you on death row, hood sentence, good riddance

I'mma put 'em in their best clothes, family members crying
Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
Put you on death row, hood sentence
Good riddance, good riddance

Written by:

Jr., Otis Jackson; Byron Simpson