1-2 bar hi-jacKer cipher
 

Fuck a pocket knife, Ill grip a stick of dynamite thats lit, and sit cockpit on your flight//

and if you struggle ill cut your wrists and leave you calling for your mother/

cuz i'm shankin ya box cutta,spittin butta,bowin plains into othas/

dont be scared, no need to studder/
those were the last words before the plane crashed that i muttered/

cuz we straight rude yo
i didn't mean to hit the towers i was aimin for ya studio

my style is swift like MacGuyver, cause Im known to blow up your whole fucking block with a bomb that I made out of a lighter//

planes blown up sent into the twin towers/
debris fallin quick like rain showers

yo i'm in that crew that like to create negative ruckus,
with a 22 in my possesion i come on and stick up yo fuckin public BUS

run up to ya car and lay you flat
took it but had to turn around...ur kid was in the back

i jump in the cock pit and put a gun to the pilots head/
tell him to fly to iraq or he's as good as dead

yo its like this u the jack and i'm the jacker,
i'm a take yo shit i couldnt less if u was black or a cracker or a mexican jelly packer

got on a plane in NYC we were still urban/
crazy mutha i had a bomb in my turban

turban or even niccas dat don't seem urban//
gone walk away wit a wound from a box cutter,2 5ths and sayin my lifes hurtin

saw u drive by in ur bentley and i shot out the tyres/
a couple of good hits is all it requires

yo mutha fuckaz keep in mind this is the "HI-JACKIN CYPHER",
give mo yo cash bitch cuse u soaked in kerosene and i aint afraid to spark my lighter

i jump in the copter and hold the pilot hostage and threaten/
any bastards move and lead they be gettin

after i fuck da sterwardist,shoot da captin steel his plain and shit//
check out da rest of da cabin sayin give up ya wallet and ur wrist watches and necklesses//

man i want yo fuckin shine i aint gotta check-mine,
oh u resistin robbery fine fuckin sallow bullets fromt the tech-nine

runnin through tha door thoughts of murda an much more
to the floor u dirty whore I need those greenbacks I done got plenty stacks

Ive got a FEEL FOR DEATH Reach in your Lungs and STEAL YOUR BREATH

yo i meet this nigga I-R walkin in a back alley-way,
u lookin at my gat now give me yo alazay (i dont know hwo to spell it)

yall people might now laugh at my terroristic threats//
but laugh later when yo building crumbles... you full of regrets//

authorities try to make us relate....
but how can we when the terrorists attacking us
are training to fly in our own states//

get out da car! hop in an star da ignition/
retaliate and da first to find u is gonna be some old man fishin

you got a car and i don't, gotta change that fact/
i'll get in, you'll get out or you'll take two to the back

Don't try to be a hero look I'm madd equipped/
Full clip of teflon bullets comin' straight out the hip

i catch up with enemies only too see the real thug-in-em
yo i grab victims and straight start muggin-em,

Down on da floor, Gimme ya wallets, watches an draw//
An if yo try run fo tha door my nine gonna dismember ya Raw//