Lyric Da Introduction
Welcome to the darkside.
Backwards (Shatasha): It s the thuggish ruggish Bone . . .
Eazy-E: Eternal. Eternal. Eternal . . .
St. Clair, niggas [niggas, niggas].
[Laughing. Scream. Thunder.]
Backwards (Bizzy): Gotta give it on up to the glock glock, pop pop, better drop before them buckshot blow. The Bone in
me never no ho, so no creepin up outta the ziplock. So, Sin, sip gin, and Lil Mo Heart run up, nut up, and flipped in, then
slipped in the clip then, mistakin they bloody victims. Member to test nuts . . .
[Explosion.]
Buck! Buck! Buck! Buck!
[Laughing.]
Right back at your muthafuckin ass comes those real true thugs staight of the Double Glock, puttin it down for the muthafuckin
Land, takin no shorts, no losses, puttin it on these jealous, bitch-made, playa hatin ass niggas. You better tell me what s real,
bitch. Takin over shit in the nine five, I bring to you the one and only, Bone thugs-n-harmony.
Nigga, this St. Clair [this St. Clair, this St. Clair].
Layzie:
Yeah, nigga.
Krayzie:
Execution double nine style, steadily fillin them bodies underground.
Bizzy:
Nigga be all about that llello bankroll. Bet I make that money, man, then roll, put it on the dough, but I beat up hoes, and I peel
em and bang. Gotta get them demons off me, creepin up softly, seepin up through my soul, and sleepin ain t good til dawn.
When I m alone, and I m dozin , bet I watch the door, then I won t be slippin , sleepin . Lovin the thugs I bails with, but a trail
of twelve gauge shells, blood ll be spilled, one-eighty-seven and a two-eleven. Twelve gauge and an AK-47 spray. Lil Ripsta
killa now, put em off in a grave--they lay with a slug stuck all up in ya. When I roll with realer niggas, pop, pop. Drop to the
sound, hit the ground, then I m up to kill ya.
Krayzie:
Them St. Clair thugs, we love when they pumpin them slugs, now what, see the blood from the scum, when I dug them
enemies deep in the mud. They drugged. I roll with them trues. Snooze, you lose, end up on the alley floor fucked up. What s
up with them shoes? Ooh, they new. So we runnin off with my dog s Chucks. Bust a left at the block. Hey, what do ya
know? Oh, no, the po-po--they follow. Copper gotta see the nigga layin but can t escape, but nigga, remember my motto:
me no surrender. Gotta get away, hit the fence with the quickness, hit the other side, and I swang to the ride, rollin through the
cut, hit ninety-five. Peel, bailin for safety we make it and chill, gotta make a mill, better not get caught for real. Nigga, drop
that bill, or I pop my steel. Ain t no competition, don t fuck with my click, and so listen you bitches that trippin so get when we
stickin then lickin them pockets. So drop that dollar, man. Gotta holler, bang. Fuckin with a thug nigga smokin blunts.
Nigga, don t stiff on the weed, smoke it all, cause, nigga, you know when our pockets get (?) I m a run and get a sack, and
come choke, choke, choke.
Layzie:
Now you re fuckin with these thuggish killas, creepin up outta the Land, and they ready to ride, gettin high off thai. My niggas
in the Land got glocks for days on the nine-nine. But I kill em all, dog. Bet Layzie don t fall with the twelve gauge eruption on
niggas, so what now? Come, nigga, get buck, pow, and not only that, get shut the fuck down. And I m talkin about niggas
that wanna contend with them thugstas. Some niggas done fucked up, never no playa haters in the click s allowed, and we
never no bustas. Never catch a nigga sleep, hear the buckshots rang where the thugs in Cleveland dwell. Daily collectin me
mill, and I ll meet you in hell if all else fails. Oh, well.
Krayzie:
Execution double nine style,
with Layzie:
steadily sendin that body underground.
Backwards (Shatasha): It s the thuggish ruggish Bone . . .
Eazy-E: Eternal. Eternal. Eternal . . .
St. Clair, niggas [niggas, niggas].
[Laughing. Scream. Thunder.]
Backwards (Bizzy): Gotta give it on up to the glock glock, pop pop, better drop before them buckshot blow. The Bone in
me never no ho, so no creepin up outta the ziplock. So, Sin, sip gin, and Lil Mo Heart run up, nut up, and flipped in, then
slipped in the clip then, mistakin they bloody victims. Member to test nuts . . .
[Explosion.]
Buck! Buck! Buck! Buck!
[Laughing.]
Right back at your muthafuckin ass comes those real true thugs staight of the Double Glock, puttin it down for the muthafuckin
Land, takin no shorts, no losses, puttin it on these jealous, bitch-made, playa hatin ass niggas. You better tell me what s real,
bitch. Takin over shit in the nine five, I bring to you the one and only, Bone thugs-n-harmony.
Nigga, this St. Clair [this St. Clair, this St. Clair].
Layzie:
Yeah, nigga.
Krayzie:
Execution double nine style, steadily fillin them bodies underground.
Bizzy:
Nigga be all about that llello bankroll. Bet I make that money, man, then roll, put it on the dough, but I beat up hoes, and I peel
em and bang. Gotta get them demons off me, creepin up softly, seepin up through my soul, and sleepin ain t good til dawn.
When I m alone, and I m dozin , bet I watch the door, then I won t be slippin , sleepin . Lovin the thugs I bails with, but a trail
of twelve gauge shells, blood ll be spilled, one-eighty-seven and a two-eleven. Twelve gauge and an AK-47 spray. Lil Ripsta
killa now, put em off in a grave--they lay with a slug stuck all up in ya. When I roll with realer niggas, pop, pop. Drop to the
sound, hit the ground, then I m up to kill ya.
Krayzie:
Them St. Clair thugs, we love when they pumpin them slugs, now what, see the blood from the scum, when I dug them
enemies deep in the mud. They drugged. I roll with them trues. Snooze, you lose, end up on the alley floor fucked up. What s
up with them shoes? Ooh, they new. So we runnin off with my dog s Chucks. Bust a left at the block. Hey, what do ya
know? Oh, no, the po-po--they follow. Copper gotta see the nigga layin but can t escape, but nigga, remember my motto:
me no surrender. Gotta get away, hit the fence with the quickness, hit the other side, and I swang to the ride, rollin through the
cut, hit ninety-five. Peel, bailin for safety we make it and chill, gotta make a mill, better not get caught for real. Nigga, drop
that bill, or I pop my steel. Ain t no competition, don t fuck with my click, and so listen you bitches that trippin so get when we
stickin then lickin them pockets. So drop that dollar, man. Gotta holler, bang. Fuckin with a thug nigga smokin blunts.
Nigga, don t stiff on the weed, smoke it all, cause, nigga, you know when our pockets get (?) I m a run and get a sack, and
come choke, choke, choke.
Layzie:
Now you re fuckin with these thuggish killas, creepin up outta the Land, and they ready to ride, gettin high off thai. My niggas
in the Land got glocks for days on the nine-nine. But I kill em all, dog. Bet Layzie don t fall with the twelve gauge eruption on
niggas, so what now? Come, nigga, get buck, pow, and not only that, get shut the fuck down. And I m talkin about niggas
that wanna contend with them thugstas. Some niggas done fucked up, never no playa haters in the click s allowed, and we
never no bustas. Never catch a nigga sleep, hear the buckshots rang where the thugs in Cleveland dwell. Daily collectin me
mill, and I ll meet you in hell if all else fails. Oh, well.
Krayzie:
Execution double nine style,
with Layzie:
steadily sendin that body underground.
