Yeah! Right about now motherfuckers is layin for a nigga like me
Ice T to bust some freestyle shit... but I don't do that I just cold
lounge up here at the Ammo Dump with my nigga Alladdin SLJ LP and my nigga
Henry G Yeah we do the shit like this
Verse One:
The card
after the ace is deuce So cut the nigga loose on the 3 That's me The
motherfuckin T I got ride on my surfboard Rhyme hard But only buy the
shit that I can't afford That's everything That's why I truck big fat
rings Cause in the motherland gold is for kings I got backup To jack
up Punks who try to act up Do a world tour Watch the big bank stack
up Motherfuckers get dropped with the quickness I got an ill left and a
right fist Make mistakes and you'll lose Or you might die Cause I'm
the wrong Ice for your bruise And that's no lie Meanwhile the penile is
stacked to the top with my niggaz Mostly for squeezin triggas I call em
homies Pigs call em crooks So I write and put bucks on they books I
give a fuck about a cop or a G-man They all talk shit Their breath
smellin like semen I catch em in the alley all alone Put em in the
prone Pop! Pop! Pop! To the dome
Chorus:
It's the
G-style Gangsta style
Verse 2:
G Style, The gangsta talk I
got a teflon .9 And it eats vest I take a motherfucker out quick Just
for talkin shit Ride Rolls Catch hoes like a mitt LA, Atlanta, New
York Yo, my shit rocks Chi-town, Miami, Detroit I get much
props Because I roll with the hardcore G Every street's the same street
to me I don't bullshit I don't quit Writin a rhyme fit KKK pray
each day That I get hit Motherfuckers try to flip on the Icepick Move
and slip Close the eyes and catch a fuckin clip Not in the ghetto no
more But I do hang Got a black game And it's sittin on them
thangs I kick the game from the street Not the slamma Tighten up my
knockas with a big lead hammer
Chorus
Verse Three:
Some of
the times I write my raps with extreme speed Some of the times I take
the pen and make pads bleed My mind clicks to Homocide Bullets
fly Ladies cry A lot of people die Some nights I can't right Stare
at the blue lines I think I'm a go blind Then the beat becomes me Sit
in the dark And write a whole fuckin LP G Style, the gangsta
talk Never near soft Hard as a knockout bout It's no sellout I keep
crime in my rhyme Cause it's my thing Packed with guns And drugs And
lots of street slang A-B-C-D-E-F, and LAPD Words from a motherfuckin
OG Ammo Dump pumps the sounds that you bump in your trunk So turn it up
punk What'cha fraid of? What'cha made of? Pull the pin Set the
grenade off Blastin sounds out ya jeep On every city street,
nigga Straight gangsta beat
Chorus
Verse Four:
Many
like to dress the style, and act hardcore Many motherfuckers are and they
crack jaws I like to lay in the cut In a nightclub Don't smoke
bud Drink suds But I gets loved, mack, cool I scope the freak with the
mad backs Hit her with the gangsta style Cool, relaxed, bam Put her in
the Benz Bump Too $hort, let her know Right off the top, what's my
sport You think long You think wrong You got it goin on, baby
doll? But I won't sing you no love song You either love me Or you
don't You're either rollin tonight Or you won't She likes the
style Cause it don't bullshit around Tounge in my ear, real slow And
then it went down I gotta flip into a ill mode Pack a clip full of hype
tracks And then unload Music for the hardcore beatdown No weak pop
shit Strictly underground And if you don't like the style, as I get
wreck Ease back nigga, catch a knife through the neck
I Artists/Bands 
Ice T CDs in sales 
