Testo Mr. No Print

[Intro: Sicx] Yeah.. luchini, Swartzanigga, haha That's why you gonna die C.O.S., Northgate, my nigga Fig, Tall Cann G, Capone I'm that nigga Sicx [Verse 1: Sicx] Ain't nathin funny about this money I'm tryin to make, straight broke So everything I take serious cause 4-25 ain't no fuckin joke An everyday struggle, puttin down this hustle's harder that it looks But the mo' dirt, that I do the mo' these niggaz hooked on bein a crook Skrillas my major concern I'm burnin just to get a sniff of that scratch, but the catcher can't see me so I'll be ski'n with my mask on; ski money gets my blast on, in a major way So my paper stays stacked, way back behind some boxes In that (?) wait that nigga in Killa Cali stay real Automatically kill, without no feelings still gets dirty Then I'm that-a-way, clockin mo' luchi than John Belushi made from +Blues Brothers+ so choose your mother's funeral dress Then feel my Smif & Wes, shiftin through you vest, rippin up your chest Pickin up the rest cause when I does my dirt won't leave a mess All by my lonesome most of them (??) blocks stay hot like rock spots, with one-time posin on each block I want G-knots, so I eavesdrops, on C-spots, then I'm out with 5-0 never knowin about my caper at home countin up that paper Can't wait to, go robbin through your hood Mr. Invisible's only concern is, to get his, when I get caught with them residuals nigga [Chorus: Sicx] So call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a clue In and out the cut 'fore you know who gettin who +Mysteries Unsolved+, that's why you never seen the one that they call Sicx, on yo' late night TV screen Call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a trace In and out the cut with a ski-mask on my face 25 to life, that's not on my agenda That's why I'm in and out before you have time to remember [Verse 2: C.O.S.] I let your blood spill, then chase the murder with some 8-ball and never leave a trace, I'm in and up outta the cut soon as you fall Leave blood all over the walls, cause my massive blows to the dome from the .44 chrome that was shown, but it ain't no case cause the bodies all gone In the trunk of the Chev', about to get thrown up off the lid cause whoever in the crib won't live when I kick through yo' door with some O.J. gloves hold onto my .44 So call me Mr. No Prints -- cause I never leave no evidence I kill off all the witnesess, then I vacate the premises Shit, that's just another residence victim of them killas Gettin hit up by that (?) Swartzanigga shit Don't make me spill yo' blood and I'm hittin the bud as soon as I see them brains go split-splat See niggaz and bitches get left for dead and alla they kids get kidnapped Put a fresh (?) on our (?) cause we planned and plotted Premeditated then waited for the right time then we got 'em Shot through the do', with the flag, hockey ski-mask on my face Cuz see, I just don't give a fuck, as long as they can't see us make our escape And that's just in case, by some slim chance we leave someone alive That's why we in and up outta the cut so fast they can't identify at all Gettin high -- count up our dollars and our sins Thinkin about how easy it is to murder like this and leave no prints, nigga [Chorus: C.O.S.] So call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a clue In and out the cut 'fore you know who gettin who +Mysteries Unsolved+, that's why you never seen the one that they call C.O.S., on your TV screen Call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a trace In and out the cut with a ski-mask on my face 25 to life, that's not on my agenda That's why I'm in and out before you have time to remember [Verse 3: Tall Cann G] Call me Mr. 211 a.k.a. jack-yo-ass, 187 blast Hit a nigga like stick'n'move, then dash on that ass Gettin away, wit a ski-mask on my face If there ain't no description then there ain't no fuckin case Fin' ta hit your block tight, with my Glock hidden up under my seat Let it pop 'til you drop, 'til you dead up in the street Guts and meats all over the concrete, ain't no time to sleep upon this nigga with this trigger love to swig that malt liquor Cause I'm sick with that Olde English shit, heads gon' split Black chrome spit, 'til you layin up in a ditch So fuck your whole click, fill 'em up with them 16 slugs Kill 'em up with that Siccness love - do or die Who the fuck am I? - Tall Cann 21st meet your worst nightmare, leave 'em right there Bloody up in the mud, cause this nigga ain't got no love Wear my gloves, cause I'm bouts to gets my hands dirty Guts all over the place, face ready for plastic surgery Never showin no mercy, in a hurry to do my dirt, then I'm out Put my strap deep in yo' mouth, try to take yo' tonsils out So watch for the ricochet, for my niggaz they dumpin with no clue where they comin from punk Then I'm out your block with an empty Glock y'all niggaz knowin nothin [Chorus: Tall Cann G] So call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a clue In and out the cut 'fore you know who gettin who +Mysteries Unsolved+, that's why you never seen The nigga Tall Cann on that late night TV screen Call me Mr. No Prints, I never leaves a trace In and out the cut with a ski-mask on my face 25 to life, that's not on my agenda That's why I'm in and out before you have time to remember