Come One, Come All Songtext
von Ill Bill feat. Styles P of D-Block
Come One, Come All Songtext
Chorus x 2]
Come one, come all
We can have a fistfight or a gun brawl
We the niggas you come see if you want raw
If ain't gonna come hard, nigga don't come at all
[Verse 1: Styles P]
Niggas is garbage, understand disposal and waste
The forty-five will probably take the nose off your face
Hit him with the shotty from his shoulder to waist
Kiss his mom, piss on the body, that go'd to waste
I'm colder than a January day with a needle
The crackers that ran?
What I'm saying is I ain't got regard for a human life
Kid and the wife, the mother, and grandmother's iced
But only if you harm one of mine
Other than that I'm calm with my palm on the nine
Puffing on a dub in a dime in a dutch roll
Fell in love with crime, do everything with gusto
Trying to watch the stacks stack up in the black truck
Let a nigga act up, tear a nigga back up
If I go to jail I'm like fuck it and throw the rack up
I don't like a nigga in the dorm he'd better pack up
[Chorus x 2]
[Verse 2: Ill Bill]
Chewed em up, spit em out, call the coroner and get em out
Carry the coffin to the hearse yo we spread em out
La Coka Nostra, Billy Ocean appearance
We grimy dope when your iced out chains near us
Don't make me have to fuck your girl and embarrass you
Hit you with heat, homeboy see what the hammers do
Front page news, million dollar camera crews
Your fam there too, a tear drop falling on your grandma's shoes
We the wild bunch from east New York
Creeps with swords chopping off your feets and arms
Crazy eighty-eight's above y'all like radio waves
Wild like the funhouse back in the Danny Tario days
We the most vulgar, act like my uncle when he's coked up
Or like a? five in the soaker, so focused we the toast of the town
The locs know us, don't be mad, stay on top of your bitches
Those hoes blow us
[Chorus x 2]
[Verse 3: Styles P]
Yo all I need is a zip of kush, a soft brick to push
A four-fifth to bust, a full strip to crush
I'mma get money cause it's a must
I kick up dust when I ride through your block making the bitches blush I'm on that ride or die, stab you in your fucking eye
Strictly aimed shots, I ain't blasting for the fucking sky
Who wanna run when our shots from the pumper fly
Sting like a killer bee, float like a butterfly
Let the work float in the pot, watch the bubbles rise
It could be December, I'll make you feel summertime
I'm on my fucking grind 24/7/365
Nigga, I die trying to get mine
I keep the fifth palmed, seats in the whip reclined
With a bad bitch, she giving my dick a spit shine
You know what it is, you know what I do
I put holes in your crew with the forty Calico and an U
Nigga
[Chorus x 2]
Come one, come all
We can have a fistfight or a gun brawl
We the niggas you come see if you want raw
If ain't gonna come hard, nigga don't come at all
[Verse 1: Styles P]
Niggas is garbage, understand disposal and waste
The forty-five will probably take the nose off your face
Hit him with the shotty from his shoulder to waist
Kiss his mom, piss on the body, that go'd to waste
I'm colder than a January day with a needle
The crackers that ran?
What I'm saying is I ain't got regard for a human life
Kid and the wife, the mother, and grandmother's iced
But only if you harm one of mine
Other than that I'm calm with my palm on the nine
Puffing on a dub in a dime in a dutch roll
Fell in love with crime, do everything with gusto
Trying to watch the stacks stack up in the black truck
Let a nigga act up, tear a nigga back up
If I go to jail I'm like fuck it and throw the rack up
I don't like a nigga in the dorm he'd better pack up
[Chorus x 2]
[Verse 2: Ill Bill]
Chewed em up, spit em out, call the coroner and get em out
Carry the coffin to the hearse yo we spread em out
La Coka Nostra, Billy Ocean appearance
We grimy dope when your iced out chains near us
Don't make me have to fuck your girl and embarrass you
Hit you with heat, homeboy see what the hammers do
Front page news, million dollar camera crews
Your fam there too, a tear drop falling on your grandma's shoes
We the wild bunch from east New York
Creeps with swords chopping off your feets and arms
Crazy eighty-eight's above y'all like radio waves
Wild like the funhouse back in the Danny Tario days
We the most vulgar, act like my uncle when he's coked up
Or like a? five in the soaker, so focused we the toast of the town
The locs know us, don't be mad, stay on top of your bitches
Those hoes blow us
[Chorus x 2]
[Verse 3: Styles P]
Yo all I need is a zip of kush, a soft brick to push
A four-fifth to bust, a full strip to crush
I'mma get money cause it's a must
I kick up dust when I ride through your block making the bitches blush I'm on that ride or die, stab you in your fucking eye
Strictly aimed shots, I ain't blasting for the fucking sky
Who wanna run when our shots from the pumper fly
Sting like a killer bee, float like a butterfly
Let the work float in the pot, watch the bubbles rise
It could be December, I'll make you feel summertime
I'm on my fucking grind 24/7/365
Nigga, I die trying to get mine
I keep the fifth palmed, seats in the whip reclined
With a bad bitch, she giving my dick a spit shine
You know what it is, you know what I do
I put holes in your crew with the forty Calico and an U
Nigga
[Chorus x 2]
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