Down `71 (The Getaway)

<br>[Murmuring of courtroom.] <br>Thug 1: <br>Playa hatin` ass muthafuckas, man. Fuck that. Man, put that shit out, man. Ain`t `posed to be smokin` no muthafuckin` weed in <br>court. Man, what the fuck you doing? <br>Elder Thug: <br>Man, fuck that. Man, they got my nigga. <br>Thug 1: <br>Man, that shit ain`t even cool. <br>Elder Thug: <br>Support his ass. <br>Judge: <br>Okay, order in the court. <br>Court Attendant: <br>People versus Bone-thugs-n-harmony. Case #C601999. <br>Bailiff: <br>Will the defendant please stand? Is there anything you wish to say on this matter before sentencing, Bizzy Bone? <br>Bizzy: <br>Naw, man. <br>Spectator: <br>You know the muthafucka did it. <br>Bailiff: <br>Well the court sentences you to death by electric chair. [Laughs, turns maniacal.] <br><br>Bizzy: <br>We had to get `em up with two thugs, runnin` side by side with #1, bet I won`t drop my gauge on when the po-po chase. If <br>they catch me barehanded, I`m done. Rip`s gripping the six-shot pump, so spill it. Copper lettin` the lead off. Copper thought <br>that he had me cuffed. Little Layzie blew his head off. [Gunshot.] Get `em up, and get up. The bullets--they start to get lit <br>up. #1 best start duckin` with a gun already buckin`. We split up. Bust a left on the double-glock and, where the fiends roll up <br>for rocks, and this perfect getaway from the pigs when I peel, and I hit the fences. Rippin` up the trenches. I`m bailin` while <br>they trailin`. Better in hell than in a cell, and ain`t no tellin` where them coppers be dwellin`. One had spotted me, picked up a <br>piece and shot at me, but I practice what I preach, so see the two slugs up in his body. Got him! Run with smoke comin` from <br>the barrel of me gun. Hit the bend. Oh, what a dumb-dumb, I got yum-yummed on a dead end. They set in then they lead in. <br>They wanted me off in a coffin. Cops from everywhere was yellin` and wailin`. I went unconscious from the stompin`. Takin` a <br>loss, and wakin` up in that coffin. And without no stallin`, cell I was tossed in to be arraigned at dawn. Me lookin` in the eyes <br>of a judge. He knew right where to put that thug--straight to the cell with no parole in the hole, where I won`t budge. Sent me <br>to death row, watchin` the time by fly past, but Rip`ll be sittin` mindless, never spineless, in silence, hopin` I die fast, but chill. <br>No doubt. Sleep on. Gotta get away, put that on all me reefer. Somehow must beat ya, so peep out the creep or the reaper <br>will meet ya. <br><br>Layzie: <br>Bailin` on a mission, flippin` the script, better check what the wind just blew in. Better think again. It`s a preacher with a grin <br>on a mission for revenge with that MAC-10. Little nigga Rip [We`ll...] had to empty the clip, [...kill] had to pump them slugs up <br>in to them cops, and he made them drop, glock went pop-pop, going out with my thug on the double-glock, back from Hell <br>and ready to bail, time to hit the trail, `cause they wanted my nigga fried. Holdin` the Bible, when I got a grenade [Explosion.] <br>inside. The squad gettin` ready for the rumble, when I heard them mumbles, pullin` me gauge and laughter. Keep buckin` them <br>faster--all I was thinkin` when I seen them bustas scatter. Better watch out for them buckshots `cause them can`t fade me <br>gauge. Gotta bust some souls in their graves, so I`m buckin` him straight to the pave. Can`t be safe. I`m buckin`. Little <br>Ripsta reinforcements comin` in fast and blast; gave my nigga, Double Zs, the MAC-10, lettin` that gun-gun blast on they ass. <br>Gotta rip in them chests through vests, MAC-10s, sawed-off eruptions. Got plenty ammunition, them missin`, listen, <br>destruction. I`m bustin`. `Cause I`m makin` that getaway, `bout to getaway, niggas got to escape, and it`s never too late, when <br>you dash and try to break, nigga, just can`t test the Bone fate. We steadily runnin`, duckin`, comin` up to the front <br>door--barracaded, and I pulled a grenade. Tossed it to the door, let it explode, and we made it. Creepin` through the <br>courtyard, saw Krayzie--feelin` safety comin`, hittin` the fence and jumpin` it quick, from Krayzie`s TEC-9 bullets on me. <br><br>Elder thug 2 (Bizzy): <br>Well, it seems as if them boys, Bizzy and Little Layzie, done got theyselves into another jimmy. <br>Elder thug 3 (Layzie): <br>Well, I love to see them boys get theyselves outta this one. <br><br>Krayzie: <br>Sit as I wait in the smug, rollin` real fast like a dog, and began with a rage, and the gauge can`t let go. They done labeled my <br>nigga psychotic; bitches has got him sittin` on death row. Scopin` off the tower, peepin` the scene so when my niggas trail, <br>screamin` out, "one-eighty-seven," and bail. Gotta get my nigga, Rip, out the cell. It`s all organized, how my nigga, #1, <br>disguised as the preacher won`t be pullin` a bible mission for survival, nigga, so I creep the TEC-millimeter. Somebody done <br>pulled the alarm. Now, it`s on. Slaughterin`, Bone sprayed off the TEC, gotta let him know which way was on. We got gone, <br>but them holice was pullin` up quick. Nigga, what`s up? Quick, bust in first. When you hit that fence, niggas get cut the fuck <br>up. We`re steady buckin`, steady duckin`, buckin`, while I was jumpin`. All we was thinkin` is, "Don`t get caught." Nigga, like <br>me, get the gun, run and gunnin`, frontin` with thugs. Gotta get to the smug, turn around and we pump slugs, put `em in the mud, <br>and all across my face was, "I`d rather lay in blood." Dodgin`, now who made (the gun blew with the swoop), bailin` back <br>home with my troops. I`m runnin` with four crazy niggas, that`s down with they niggas, they ain`t scared to shoot. Now we`re <br>rollin`, no more than a half a mile we get stopped. Cops surround Bone. We load glocks and squeeze, say, "fuck all these <br>roadblocks." Busted a `U,` then put that bitch in reverse, and I get the switch, and I push the button. That boy came out the <br>trunk, and put it in drive. See that Souljah Boy buckin`, back in the other direction. Po-po came quick, them heat up. Niggas <br>glanced at each other, opened up they doors, and they kicked they feet up. I jumped outta the car, had to jump over the hood, <br>`cause I`m headed straight for the woods. My niggas--they followed behind me. We getaway smooth, a nigga made good. <br>Came up quick to the hideout, waited `til midnight `til we ride out. Hid a car so we could drive out. While we waited, we all <br>got fried out, fool. If you`s a thuggish-ruggish thug, nigga, [St. Clair . . .] scream, "Mo!" Took one of my niggas off death row, <br>now we got one mo` to go. <br>[Commotion.]