Artist: Ghostown Album: The Forgotten Borough Song: Your Turn to Die Typed by: Kevdawg1876@aol.com * * send corrections to the typist DJ On Point: This shit right here is by Cig featuring Formz. It's called it's Your Turn to Die. The Forgotten Borough, the mixtape [Chorus] Who the fuck is talkin' shit!? Bet this pussy gon' back down quick Grab your guns, better rep your clique G's up T's down, it's your turn to die! Who the fuck is talkin' shit!? Bet this pussy gon' back down quick Grab your guns, better rep your clique G's up T's down, it's your turn to die! [Cig] They rappin' hard now, cause that's what sell homes Formz: When only thing they ever killed was they cell phones Swell domes of rappers posin' like a hard ass When only gun he ever seen drawn was in art class Darts blast, so fuck that rep you doubt You're so ugly cashiers won't even check you out Doubt your clout, with lies bout the dealt bricks you sold When only time you felt brick's when you're cold And when I'm old, I plan to be the best in the game West rest, test the aim of the vest and the chain Messed with the lame, and know that the kid keeps scopes Cig's next in line, frankly, I'm the last street hope You callin' her wifey but she's one to keep, note That Mark Felt aint the only 1 admittin' to deep throat Heat soaks, hate the kid, but you'll buy it still Cause when I come see you, you're quiet like fire drills, so! [Chorus] [Cig] Truth or dare? it's the truth that Cig's the hardest So how dare you wanna step to this artist Tucked Mag and a clip, I drop a line on a track Fuck baggin' a nick when you got a dime in the sack Grind with a pack, stack, dunny, word, true I've sold enough weight to give New York the bird flu Screw your bird too, she blew me in bunches Her neck movin' up and down like she doin' crunches Threw in the punches, I'm the best and they know it Bet your Bucks I'm the number 1 pick like Bogert Wrote it, they quote it, they sayin' Cig's a force I got enough lines to fill up all 12 months of the Source Of course this kid aint gotta crack the rounds Cause when I come see you it's all daps and pounds Smack the clowns, and if you're so hard, tell me This homo's trapped in the closet like R. Kelly, so! [Chorus] [J Formz] Formz is god on the streets, always come hard on a beat Ayo, I spar with MC's and leave em' scarred on the beat And when I'm feelin' like this, be sure of your direction Or go to the pigs and start oderin' protection It's slaughter if you step son Cause I love to send shots, and you gon' wind up gettin' caught up in affection I ought to be a blessin' Cause when you ask about unsigned hype, you know Formz should be mentioned I'm armed so don't tempt this, with stronger defenses To calm all your senses, and all with a sentence The track's been raped And I don't need dough on tracks cause whatever I move in weight, I get back in cake Please, you wanna come test me kid? Let me in and I'm killin' more records then Gretzky did Punch line after punch line man you would think I was Fab the way the crowd was like d,d,d,d,DAM! [Chorus]