.
Got me creeping out the house, no doubt—bringing that motherfucking heat again. Where’s that throwaway? They keep disappearing, deep in the Pacific, no trace. I won’t drop specifics, but check my hit list—names locked, moves calculated.
Raised in the streets, rollin’ with killers, smashin’ down thugs. If I’m rollin’, it’s with one—always loaded, chamber ready, no empty threats. Danger’s in my aim, steady and cold. I’m hunting, rolling through the world, leaving bodies in my wake—one shot, one kill, straight to your head.
I’m feeding the streets, no mercy. White folks fussin’ over their pet food, picky with their meals—only human meat, dark meat, street feed. I’m cooking up chaos, stirring the pot by daylight, leaving smoke and shadows in my path.
Locked in, steady grind, moving like a Mookie Wookie—got that Nookie Nookie, ready to blast that Sookie. Rookie days gone, now I’m pro, stepping up, making moves, holding my turf with pride and power.
“5150, car 51, where you at? Code 12, code 13, police rolling in, approach with force—no backing down, no fear.” When they roll up, I’m booking, but I’m recording every moment, staying sharp, staying ready.
We apprehended the suspect, no hesitation, no mercy. This is the real game—no joke, no breaks. More dead this year than ever, but I’m always on that next level, watching shadows creep, hearing voices from the dark, but I’m unshaken.
They wanna see me fall, but I’m too strong, too real. I’m aiming, hitting every spot, breaking clocks, owning the streets. No smoke, no joke—when I bring the heat, they gotta go.
I’m low key but loud in the game, moving with purpose, no fear, no doubt. This is my life, my code, my pride. I’m sick in the head? Maybe. But that’s the mindset that keeps me winning, keeps me gangsta—confident, proud, and unbreakable.
NeuronFunky720
