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( *DJ Evil Dee cuts up* )
(Don`t front)

[ VERSE 1: Buckshot Shorty ]
When I get bent I must represent, no question
Get up a dime spot and then I`m off to the dread section
Roots hit me off lovely
Comin out the spot I had to duck because a nigga tried to buck me
I`m easin on the Glock like, "What up, hop"
Buck`s pullin out on cops cause I want free Glocks
What the fuck, bring your bitch-ass type brigade
Hittin them all, hand guns and hand grenades
( ? ) man that`s wanted for murder
Got your block locked down, so don`t come any further
In my clip is a .22 dum-dum
Oh yeah, I seen your moms, I hit her off with a jum
Know what I`m sayin? Fret it or forget it
( ? ) fly so I`ma still get paid, I don`t sweat it
I`m every MC`s nightmare manifestin
A little shorty pushin the fact that I`m best in
This shit called hip-hop, raise the throne
Kid, don`t front, I got you open in your dome

[ VERSE 2: Buckshot Shorty ]
Rest in peace to my niggas in the East
And all the real niggas that was shot by beast
Around the way all we do is spark mad ism
Ladies be like, "Yo, he`s Buckshot right there, that is him"
But let`s get with the cipher, kid, pass the eight
So I can wet my lungs and blow smoke in your face
Word to Jah, niggas can`t touch me, kid
Cause I`m too nice to do bids or ever hit skid
Fronts in the bottom of my teeth like whatever shit
On the real, gettin played, what, I never did
Cause on the mic I gotta represent the real niggas
The field niggas get the muthafuckin ill triggers
Word to Herb, lick shot with my verb
And keep my hand on my grip when I play the curb
I never got caught by a undercover DT
( ? ) can`t see me
You grab mics from the ones I left broken
Kid, don`t front, you know I got you open

[ VERSE 3: Buckshot Shorty ]
Late at night I catch a buzz, then I write
The type of ill shit to make the mind feel tight
And be wantin to battle like every five minutes
But I`m in this like Guiness so that ass get finished
Straight from the floors of hell, feel the flame
You faggot ass, I heard your nickname`s Blaine
I hit your brain and you felt the pain, maintain
When it comes to a battle you know the Buck reigns
I vocal-throw the flow, niggas be like, "Yo, how`d you do that?"
Bitches be like "Yo who that, you`re all that, yo, true that"
Never forget that I`m the one you thought wouldn`t make it
I used to make money, now I just take it
I do what I gotta do to bring you to the concrete
Buckin niggas down cause they think shit is sweet
I keep a Tec whenever I`m in the projects
Ease out, then flex, in effect like Wreckx
Buck to your head, now die is my slogan
Don`t front, you know I got you open

( *DJ Evil Dee cuts up* )
(Don`t front)

[ VERSE 1: Buckshot Shorty ]
When I get bent I must represent, no question
Get up a dime spot and then I`m off to the dread section
Roots hit me off lovely
Comin out the spot I had to duck because a nigga tried to buck me
I`m easin on the Glock like, "What up, hop"
Buck`s pullin out on cops cause I want free Glocks
What the fuck, bring your bitch-ass type brigade
Hittin them all, hand guns and hand grenades
( ? ) man that`s wanted for murder
Got your block locked down, so don`t come any further
In my clip is a .22 dum-dum
Oh yeah, I seen your moms, I hit her off with a jum
Know what I`m sayin? Fret it or forget it
( ? ) fly so I`ma still get paid, I don`t sweat it
I`m every MC`s nightmare manifestin
A little shorty pushin the fact that I`m best in
This shit called hip-hop, raise the throne
Kid, don`t front, I got you open in your dome

[ VERSE 2: Buckshot Shorty ]
Rest in peace to my niggas in the East
And all the real niggas that was shot by beast
Around the way all we do is spark mad ism
Ladies be like, "Yo, he`s Buckshot right there, that is him"
But let`s get with the cipher, kid, pass the eight
So I can wet my lungs and blow smoke in your face
Word to Jah, niggas can`t touch me, kid
Cause I`m too nice to do bids or ever hit skid
Fronts in the bottom of my teeth like whatever shit
On the real, gettin played, what, I never did
Cause on the mic I gotta represent the real niggas
The field niggas get the muthafuckin ill triggers
Word to Herb, lick shot with my verb
And keep my hand on my grip when I play the curb
I never got caught by a undercover DT
( ? ) can`t see me
You grab mics from the ones I left broken
Kid, don`t front, you know I got you open

[ VERSE 3: Buckshot Shorty ]
Late at night I catch a buzz, then I write
The type of ill shit to make the mind feel tight
And be wantin to battle like every five minutes
But I`m in this like Guiness so that ass get finished
Straight from the floors of hell, feel the flame
You faggot ass, I heard your nickname`s Blaine
I hit your brain and you felt the pain, maintain
When it comes to a battle you know the Buck reigns
I vocal-throw the flow, niggas be like, "Yo, how`d you do that?"
Bitches be like "Yo who that, you`re all that, yo, true that"
Never forget that I`m the one you thought wouldn`t make it
I used to make money, now I just take it
I do what I gotta do to bring you to the concrete
Buckin niggas down cause they think shit is sweet
I keep a Tec whenever I`m in the projects
Ease out, then flex, in effect like Wreckx
Buck to your head, now die is my slogan
Don`t front, you know I got you open

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