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blaze ya dead homie – str8 outta detroit lyrics

b-tch, you can straight up eat a mothaf-ckin’ d-ck! i’m lookin’ at the
mothaf-ckin’ frontline. i see violent j… anybody killa… and that
mothaf-ckin’ dead homie, blaze! see, we represent a mothaf-ckin’ hatchet on

the daily. world wide baby! but for this moment in time, we wanna give up
props to d-town (detroit!)

straight outta detroit, crazy mothaf-cka named blaze
back from the dead, tell my story on the front page
when i’m jackin’
i got a mack-10
squeeze the trigger off for criminals and axes
which wanna y’alls wanna f-ck with me?
the police are gonna have to come and get me
we stompin’ yo -ss, b-tch i ain’t goin’ out

all you suckas, ain’t n-body showin’ out
n-gg-s wanna set trip
try and talk sh-t
cold c-ck yo’ -ss and leave you with yo’ wigsplit

goin’ off on any b-tch like that
with a gat
that’s pointed at yo’ dome!
so give it up sucka
i’m down with anybody, “drive-by, m-th-f-cka!”
he’s a murderer, best keep yo’ distance
down with the family, like charles manson
crook throwaway is a mothaf-ckin’ tool
don’t make me act a mothaf-ckin’ fool

me and you can go, toe to toe, maybe
on the corner, strapped, slangin’ rocks daily
and turned weekly, monthly, and yearly
all the thugs in the hood represent me
’cause i’m down with a capital d-e-t
b-tch, you can’t f-ck with me!
when i’m in yo’ neighborhood, you better duck

ya dead homie, still crazy as f-ck
mashin’ on you b-tches, i think you get the point
eastside, mothaf-cka, comin’ straight outta detroit

“yo, anybody, tell em’ where you from!”
straight outta detroit, the name is anybody killa
every b-tch i choke, yo, my rep gets bigga
i’m a thug m-th-f-cka, and you know this
but you playa hatin’ b-tches better never ever show this

i don’t give a f-ck, i make my cheese
middle finger in the air screamin’ “f-ck the police!”
straight servin’, we call a cop car, jack it
run your donuts, your guns, and your badges
shoot a m-th-f-cka in a minute
for some hood rat p-ssy and go up in it
so if you at a show

in the front row
i’ma call you a b-tch if yo’ -ss ain’t a juggalo
b-tches gettin’ mad, b-tches ain’t sh-t
b-tches and hoes can eat a m-th-f-ckin’ d-ck
i’m a crazy m-th-f-cka from the streets

with them thug -ss lyrics and them thug -ss beats
anybody controls the automatic
so any punk m-th-f-cka that start static
with my dead homie, or by myself
everytime, i pull the ak off the shelf
security is maximum and that’s a law
k-i-double-l-a, i’m raw
b-tch, i’m a m-th-f-ckin’ villan
stand in my way and you’re witnessin’ the killin’
creepin’ up without a clue
and once you in the scope, yo’ -ss is through
so b-tch, you better get a grip
’cause anybody killa’s on a gangsta tip
straight outta detroit!

“j is his name and the boy’s comin’…”

straight outta detroit!
is it nut that i’m cut
like whut?
and make your sister eat b-tt
dangerous
a thug claimin’ southwest
i’ll leave an axe hangin’ outta yo’ chest
see i don’t give a f-ck, that’s the problem
i see a m-th-f-ckin’ cop, i’ma stop him
play it smart and ask for directions
and then shank him in the f-ckin’ midsection
to me, it’s kinda funny, this prozac
i don’t know where the f-ck i’m goin’ or where the f-ck i’m at
i’m just rollin’, lookin’ for some ecstasy
so i can get high and f-ck this b-tch next to me

ruthless… is the label that’s floppin’
but the hatchetman be choppin’
’cause it really don’t matter bout me
it’s all anybody killa and blaze ya dead homie
feel a little gust of wind and you’re dead
’cause an axe just severed yo’ head

and what about the b-tch that got shot?
she gave me herpes so i shot her in the back
this be an autobiography

of blaze, he’s dead and gone, but ain’t lonely
dark lotus will slaughter your mother
and slap your brother
straight outta detroit!

“oh my god!”
“oh my… oh my god!”
“oh my… oh my god!”
“oh my god!”

- blaze ya dead homie lyrics

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