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    f/ Black Moon, Lord Have Mercy

    [Buckshot Shorty]
    Niggas get hurt on my block
    Niggas do dirt on my block
    Some push work on my block
    Little niggas hustle laptops, ragtops
    In the high-speed chase from the bad cops
    TNT, fuck that, they ain't seein me
    The heat is in the seat of my three
    Nowadays deez pop niggas for no reason
    Like it's nigga season, fuck that let's visit the precint
    Son I got the rubber gloves
    For the rubber grip snub in the jar by love
    I play the block like the cars I love
    The Gods love Buckshot regardless - I burn the hardest
    I used to be formerly know as the artist
    Know it's back to Buck, I smack niggas what don't start it
    Cuz I play the block like corn stores
    Hardcore where my niggas hold rocks in they jaw

    [Chorus - Lord Have Mercy]
    Watch out, shut shit down - That's us!
    Keep it King Kong, aim string long - That's us!
    Gotta haul weight all day nigga - That's us!
    On fire! - That's us!
    On fire! - That's us!
    We don't back down, we back 'em down - That's us!
    Put the cash up, we mash it down - That's us!
    Ghetto bastards, we crowd around - That's us!
    On fire! - That's us!
    On fire! - That's us!

    [Buckshot Shorty]
    It's the block where we all hand and we all slang
    Shots to the mall nang, never ball rang
    Everybody got game, we hustle and muscle for fame
    Ghetto celebs, you know my name
    I put the work on it, I be the first on it
    And at the first of the month, I'll be the worst on it
    Them jealous niggas be gettin me hype
    Wanna make my block hot like my streetbike tailpipe
    Do what you feel like, cuz I'ma still kill like
    Twenty niggas who feel hype, cuz I'm still right
    One in ya windpipe, one hit'cha real light
    Steak-n-cheese, ain't no mistakin these
    We pop niggas and we pop deez
    Especially when we drop trees
    Fuck that, we pop with ease
    Nigga this is the block and shit don't stop
    Little use, got bullet proof suits to rock

    [Chorus]

    [Buckshot Shorty]
    Fuck actin like it's all love, fuck that
    It ain't all love when the guns off the gunrack
    Beef, been there done that
    'Til that, a dude can't drill that
    Even if I never feel that
    But tickle the shit you come with or go with
    You like bleedin with no kit, useless
    If you got a choice choose this
    Crown Heights, Crow Hill, everything is Christmas for real
    We rob and steal
    Boost a little 'Lo a little Tom Hil'
    We don't really wear Tommy Hil but everything we rock they steal
    Money is the root of all evil
    But the Devil ain't a dollar bill
    You better get that money - I'm gettin it
    I ain't bullshittin it, I'm tryin to get rid of it
    Every bit, every little cent in my bank account
    Fuck workin thirty years on the paper route

    [Chorus]

    [Lord Have Mercy]
    Yea, yo, yea
    Black Moon style, what
    Yea, yea, what, yea
    Beatminerz style, what, what
    Uh, uh, what
    Lord Have style nigga
    Uh-huh, uh-huh

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