Ice M.f. T - Ice T

Yeah! 1993  I'm back motherfucker  this is Ice T. 
Got my nigga Ice Cube in the motherfuckin house. 
Yeah! Up here in the ammo dump studios I got my 
nigga Aladdin  SLJ's in the motherfuckin place  
behind the mixin boards  
we about to do dis shit like this here! 

Verse 1: 

It's goin down tonight in L.A. 
Buckshot and uzis spray 
Microphone blowa 
The bitch checka 
The ho wrecka 
Ice motherfuckin T 
Nigga step to me 
But grab ya hoes quick 
Cause the Syndicate's throwin that crazy dick 
Punk motherfuckers run up 
You'll get done up 
We'll have your ass gunned up 
Before sun-up 
So what's the color I'm raggin? 
Been a millionare for years 
Still saggin 
Left pocket's stuffed with the ??? 
.380 in my right so it sags a little bit 
More than the rest of my gear 
When I'm on tour 
I empty clips 
Bust lips 
And break jaws 
Cause I love to loc up 
So punk motherfucker don't choke up 
When you're talkin to me 

Chorus: 

Ice, Ice motherfuckin T (x4) 

Verse 2: 

Bush, Quayle and Clinton got a problem with me: 
The motheruckin T 
I give less than a fuck about any of them 
Or their fuckin police friends 
They'd like to take me out 
Make me a goner 
They even tryin to sweat Time Warner 
Why? 
For tellin the truth to the youth 
That a lot of motherfuckers are hot 
And want police shot? 
You can't stop the shock (?) 
The fires are out 
But the coals are still hot 
I got juice to bring pain 
You tryin to fuck with the Ice 
Are you insane? 
This shit is bigger than me 
Be warned 
It's the calm before the storm 
And every fuckin thing I write 
Is gonna be analyzed by somebody white 

Chorus 

Verse 3: 

Run motherfucker, hide motherfucker, trip motherfucker, die motherfucker 
You don't give love 
And you won't get loved 
You don't push 
And you won't get shoved 
No joke 
I ain't here to laugh 
I ain't here to cry 
But every night of the week 
One of my homies die 
Eeny meeny mynie moe 
Blood's pourin out the naps of your afro 
It could be you 
Could be you 
Could be you 
Could be your whole damn crew 
It happens real quick 
Screechin tires 
Next thing you're hit 
Your body's cold 
Your body's hot 
You feel your chest 
You gasp for breath 
You're shot 
And now your homies is trippin' 
Lookin for a gat to put they clip in 
Street crime- 
That's the thing I bring, Ice T 
I rap ??? sing 
They call it controversy 
I call it truth with no mercy 
The beats are phat Ammo Dump tracks 
The kind that make speakers crack 
Not made for squares 
Or the weak punks 
That made the bump trunks 
Press- 
Get the fuck out my fuckin face 
I ain't got no more time to waste 
A ho is a ho, a bitch is a bitch, a nigga is a nigga 
And that's it 
I'm through explainin the shit 
You just makin me backtrack 
The next duck reporter might get hit with a blackjack 
Plus 
Every one of my true fans 
Totally understands 
A nigga like me 

Chorus (x2)