II TRU featuring Tombstone, Sin, Ken Dawg, and Flesh-N-Bone

A high plane's drifter keepers of the night.  We shiftin', strugglin' with all our might.  We fight to restore order, reporters from Hell, distorted visions impair the thinkin', be blinkin' in and out.  You better watch me.  I see this thrown, 'cause the food, it was rotten.  Rats and roaches approachin' from all sides.  Discombobulated corpses.  Evil forces provokin' my movements.  Interact and get slaughtered.  No losses will be issued on this side of the fence.  What will it take for you suckas to be convinced?  You won't be happy 'til you're lynched.  Get hauled off in a box, and thrown inside of a trench.  We pulled your balls out to see where you got your strength.  You made me pull my sawed-off, so I burnt you to a crisp.

Gotta get that blaze on.  That indo keep callin' me for that deuce up.  Partner, what's up?  Better take them two hits and pass that blunt up to your left, keep it comin' back-to-back with that buddah smoke.  Gotta get them lungs full.   Me puff that potent smoke 'till me choke, croak, from a hella that ganja.  Droppin' them P's to that marijuana, see, 'cause a sista in need to smoke that weed with much honor.  E-Z Wider, Swisha, or Philly, don't matter really, 'cause it smokes the same.  Blaze that indo up, toke up, two hits on the danks.

Ken Dawg:
I told you it don't stop [stop].  Opposin' these cops; I get stopped in the drop.  Now, locked up, get outta jail and hopped [hopped] on a flight.  Man, I was fucked up in the parking lot, straight tryin' to get sucked up, what?  I heard they sayin' we broke.  Nigga, for what, huh?  These Benz's ain't from no dope.  You punk muthafuckas quote them wrong.  I'm ridin' so real with this game.  You punk niggas can't maintain.  Fuck the fame.  I can't change, what?

We know Jhaz gon' smoke some of that indo.  Get your toke on, too, 'till my mind blow.  Got a flow, then ante up for more, so please, nigga, chill on all that trippin'.  Two hits then pass to the left 'cause that blunt I must be hittin'.  Gotsta find the chronic, on a mission, here I go.  Bud and indo, 'cause the Clair is full of chronic, bag of indo.  Get your toke on.

In the twilight it pays to lay, creepers come out.  We're all weak in this game to play.  Night breeders can't stand the day.  Dirges will, uh, bring out the worst kind of killers.  In the hood we got thrillers, first degree murderin' cap peelas, warders.  Sit back watch the movie.  Damn, six-five got little G, wonder what?  Took two hits and pass they ass to the reaper.  Got them niggas, triggers be blazin' in the cold, but ain't no facin' these niggas made of gold.  Now, you know.   (STC) known for writin' scriptures in the Land.  Now, hustlas, carjackers, and hitchers got his ass on the side of the road.  Stay far away from witches, hell of a world to think clear, Enter by all means if you dare fall victim to being a slave to the rhythm of the ghetto.

(Ziplock reaper the Flesh Bone chalk you if you don't pump pump and let dump dump pumps peep you for the bloody mess.  And he break in, testin' Flesh-N-Bone, 'cause the nigga get gone.
expect to feel it with the forty-four, fold shit, killas gone.  I'll hit ya, (...?...) and the bomb hit, man, don't get too close, it will be for keeps, nine deep, gon' keep on sellin' up (...?...) needin' my pump in the industry.  I'm (...?...) a menace, shit, we get nasty, gotta take two hits and pass, takin' it into the lungs, light a fifty-sack, lookin' for me havin' some fun in the back.  And who thought nigga that's what they caught me, Armageddon's ninety nine, is he out when I'm in the violence, label me outlaw, see me act deceased, lie down, stop all get, all get diseases in all your life you go, when they gonna cross all third world speaks for leaves, fin to learn to get Mo Thug Flesh-N-Bone hittin' em, endin' 'em all of 'em, all . . .)

"Two Hits and Pass" Lyrics
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WasteLand Lyrics: The Art of Bone.  
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