The Regulators (feat. Rock Marcy & Sly Boogie) (Explicit Album Version)

Yeah, uh, I'mma execute somethin', you know what I'm sayin'?
The executioners, cut that head like
(What, what, what, what, what, what, what, what)
Oh, yeah, uh, yeah, yeah, uh

You fool get ate, my nine baked like a brick oven
Take shit from 'em, and youngin'
Need to see me comin' like a pitbull runnin'

Get up on a footstool, look cool dumpin'

Shoot pool with the yule like it ain't nothin'
Hoes, I cut 'em like dope, you could hold somethin'
This shit is in my bones, cousin
I can't be a clone frontin'
I push your top like a button
Pie cuttin', but not for nothin'

I could chop a rapper while they be rubbin'
Turntables like Asian women
And that's the latest vision
Fresh from the mind of a menace
Genius, book of Guinness, get on my percentage

One without limit, handle my motherfuckin' business
Put a beat down on you, malignant
It was written, my shit is hittin'
Get to gettin' where you can fit in
Pen swifter than Benz and efficient

Niggas listen to me in prison
Doin' they sets, Nassau County the rest
Brooklyn house to Rikers Island
Where you get smacked for smilin'
Hittin' a act of violence
Criminal rap, the malice
Shiftin' your balance with the twenty carat
Nine double M's, a caesar salad
You ain't gotta be actin' like you mackin'
To my music like Fatal Attraction, yo

(What, what, what, what, what)
(We be the regulators)

I'm a killer when you fuck with my scrilla
You gon' feel the grip of the pitbull gorilla
The click pull the trigger with clips, bruise a nigga with spit
Move with bullets that rip through your liver (The click)
'Cause when it's on, it's on
I put a hole in your dome when I blow this chrome
You gon' be on a tombstone when the smoke is gone

I could feel it in my bones, in my chromosomes
'Cause in my life ain't nothin' but drama, nigga

You don't wanna fuck around with the scrilliana
I put you down in the ground, you ain't gon' see mañana
I gave my last eighty dollars to my baby mama

This ain't no fantasy rap about clappin' gats
Matter of fact, fuck a strap, we gon' have to scrap
I'm gettin' creamy in the white wall Cadillac
You can't see me like eyeballs with cataracts
When I'm dippin' through your habitat
I hit you with the jab, have you staggerin' doin' the Cabbage Patch
'Cause I ain't havin' that, you get your pockets pat
Fuckin' with my snaps, what type of crap is that?
Shine like Illuminati when I'm in the party

Fuck the glitterati, catch a bullet in your body

Until I die, I bang I.E
And I'm fuckin' with these niggas up in NYC

(No doubt, all the time)
(C'mon, c'mon)
(It's real, man, straight up and down)
(It's all about this hip hop shit right here, son)
(We be the regulators)