(Dirty Box)  Time to bury the bloody hatchet in your  motherfucking back  I laugh when I hear yo rib cage crack  I'm breakin you down  fuckin you up like sprack  you always mixin up yo fiction with yo facts  now i'm'a let you know what the soul for real is  come correct, let me know what the deal is  bro, pack your bowl, with my flow  shit just aint workin out  now i'm'a have to let you go    (Spyda)  Cant mess with us, better run you must  junkie ass niggas hands will be cut  the hatchet pierces your heart and soul  motherfuckin baby niggas cryin, wanna go home  we aint done with your bitch-ho-ass  I spit so hard the flow comes out real fast  since Halloween I been all up in your ass  ranked last at school in my motherfuckin class  but I done never gave a fuck so I make nerve gas    (Chorus)  Time to bury the hatchet,  Make that shit go deep  Your ass we attack it,  So you cant sleep  We're not your friends,  Thats why the knife will go deep  And if you cant take it,  Then go to fuckin sleep    (Kriminal)  Niggas cant breathe, niggas dont believe  that niggas go black-on-black, cuz niggas cant see  we all the same niggas, even though some cant read  we should fight the racist bastards, instead of the niggas  ya see?  what the fuck are you german? Fuhrman? your ass aint learnin  we for real nigga we kill like Persians  all the Kash Killaz ridin in a Ford Excursion  shoot up the suburds, and shoot up the urban  racism is alive and the Bush folk denyin it  political talk nigga and I'm tryin to fight it  wont stand for this bullshit, thats why we do shit    (Da Sorcerer)  Use my black motherfuckin magic  I'm a motherfuckin cocaine addict  and I've had it, fuck tampax dont pad it  that shit will bleed like you sporadic  been 5 days you aint dead? bitch your crabbin  dont get that shit on me bitch I'm like Aladdin  your ass will be clappin, I scare you make you crappin    (Chorus)    (Crooked Ed)  I'm just a god damned sideshow joke like Bob  motherfucking saying 'Whoa!' like Black Rob  hell I'm just trying to get in the hood, dawg  I might not be of your type, but I praise the same God  God also known as the late great Tupac    (Rahim)  The flow is filled with metaphors, and heteroes  homos and my bros, fight with trench coats  shoot up you m-fuckers like I shot up Elmo  Big Bird in the trunk smokin weed like a punk  this style I rhyme with aint been used since Kings of Krunk  but we dont get it crunk, we get it fucked up  drink so much liquor, you'd think we'd have cups  a 5th of vodka followed by fuckin this bitch named Rhonda  screamin help me Rhonda, when my shit is stuck   dont matter nigga if it breaks off, nigga your fucked  so I pull the gun and out and this slut I shoot up  nothing positive here motherfucker, tough luck  my ego is so big its already squashed some kids  I went to the deep south they callin me nig  shit like that you can never forget, and never forgive  thats why I'm always up to stab some redneck motherfuckin shit    (Chorus)    (Dominique)  Aint got a chance to spit? well I dont give shit  your mom is givin me brain in your own crib  I took your damn car and got it lifted  your little sister's pussy? shit I already ripped it  no spinners that shit is gone nigga its now thrifted  your ass got hemeroids nigga now you gon shit it?  I dont really pity your ass so tough shit  I bury the hatchet in your ass, fuckin bitch    (G-Mony)  Thats the K to tha A to tha S to tha H  yeah and K to tha I double L and A through Z  motherfuckers cant fuck with me  Kash Killaz represent    (Chorus)