Texty:
Buck O Nine Ah Yeah

All of out lives and all our dreams Seems to come apart at the seams But in the night we dream of better things to come There's gotta be a better way

soft, 'cause my records went gold (Sucker) Buster, you're a muthafuckin' punk fool Caught you in your eye, while you reached for your tool Now it's mine, and you're blind Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop goes the nine Yeah

I ain't servin' Jump up and get ah cut ah that stuff, get off to servin' Armani or some coochie, her figure mixed wid coochie I'm ridin' fully loaded, plus cut, whatever suits me Lil Buck

know about y'all ova there But ova here we crunk and we ready I went from Adidas to Chuck Taylor's To the first one on the block wit some buck gators Rock them papers, need I say more? Yeah

to get us paid (We hustle hard) You see never it fails most of my homies either dead or jail (Gone) Don't fuck with phonies 'cause they get you killed (Ah ah

and trust - my, nine Because, nine lives nine triggers Fine rhymes equal the nine figures Yeah the cold cash, I hold a bold stash Yeah pockets next to

Crips do that 12 bars for that bitch he won't live through that Even a nigga with a ten-year bid knew that Put a gun in his mouth yeah, yeah do that

Shoot 'em up, shoot 'em up, ah yeah Talkin' like that'll have 'em all scared Don't come to me with no petition Fool, come to me with ammunition 'Cause the bang, bang, buck, buck

the golden child, throwing it to your ear-hole, got you going buck wild. But truck-tracks, rhymes all day, breaking off niggaz proper, did dirt, did West cause I clown coppers (yeah