Sick in Da Mind

(*talking*)<br>Another one, and another one<br>Bad Azz (Bad Azz) Mix Tape (Mix Tape), 3 (3)<br>M-O-B, Presidential, whoa whoa whoa<br><br>[Big Pokey]<br>I got a heavy attitude, and the balls to match<br>Sprewheeling up the block, top falling back<br>Back dime on my lap, when I`m crawling black<br>I treat one`s like hunds, cause they all`d stack<br>It ain`t your cataract cat, you just can`t see me<br>Bring your A game you still can`t beat me, you know it`s real<br>Chic check niggaz grill, when they disrespect it<br>Pop like break dancers, any nigga can catch it<br>A 4-5`ll clear the lot, like laws<br>Your hoe keep riding my jock, bitch pause<br>Light on my feet, quick as a cat when I move<br>Ride with the heat, fixing your hat see I`m a fool<br>With this automatic tool, I can make you feel me<br>You can`t be scared to die, if you wanna kill me<br>A bunch of niggaz, gotta twist it around<br>Humble but I`m sick in the mind, really<br><br>[Hook - 2x]<br>Sick in the mind, dog I need to change my ways<br>Quick with the iron, like switch blades and K`s<br>24 on the grind, I ain`t changed in days<br>Time is money and money is time, so don`t play<br><br>[Kevo]<br>Young Fever, I got a flow hotter than a chop shop<br>And fold niggaz, like the roof on a drop top<br>I squeeze a .50 Cal, when it`s time to mob blocks<br>Make these niggaz Harlem shake, and throw in a pop lock<br>All-Star offense, for you haters that cock block<br>Here`s something for your mouth, to make you sizzle like Pop Rocks<br>You wanna see me cuffed, everytime that the cops knock<br>But they lawyers ain`t strong enough, to go against my cock<br>Bread, because as soon as the cops in<br>All the shorties start dropping, I ain`t playing I`m hopping<br>Who you know besides me, keep the game on screens<br>Chain on beams, quick to put your brain on lean<br>I`m drain-o-clean, known to spit flames on scenes<br>Stain on screens, bout to click my game on mean<br>Switch the fears, like Francis twist it with peers<br>I`ve been all about my paper for years, cheers<br><br>[Hook - 2x]<br><br>[Lil O]<br>I score the work and hit the kitchen, man it`s animal instincts<br>And start with them cocoa grams, over my damn sink<br>I don`t understand, how the fuck could a man think<br>That money gon fall from the sky, like an airplane<br>But down in H-Town, if you snooze you lose<br>You don`t grind you don`t shine, so I stick to the rules<br>All I know is put it in they face, give `em the blues<br>And knock off something foreign, and hit it with shoes<br>I`m a fool, in other words I`m sick in the mind<br>I turn one into three, dog I`m sick with the grind<br>And everytime the sun come up, it`s always here is a sign<br>It tells me get your ass up, and get on the grind<br>I put my back in the game, till it`s put up my spine<br>Any nigga turn snitch, then hit with the iron<br>You a backward hustler, I`m a slicker to shine<br>Like Bush, Escobar and Noreaga with bombs<br><br>[Hook - 2x]