Bullets In The Fire - Lyrics - Rusted Root

Title: Bullets In The Fire
Artist: Rusted Root
Composer(s): Michael Glabicki

Lyric:
When I was young, I threw bullets in the fire
Believe me when I tell this truth
But now those days are gone, lights have passed me by
I can't disguise the way I feel, I feel, I feel, feel, feel

In the tomb, I held my bloom
In this tomb, I hold my bloom
Into this open flame but now those days are gone
I've learned to change my name, into this open flame

'Cause there's bullets in the fire
I believe I lost my head
Will you ever know what was sent down
Before those things went crazy

Is everything I ever thought it would be
As the puppets in my head have turned into hoods
Well please bring the rain, bring the rain, rain
Hold me, touch me baby, as I thank you, you

'Cause now those days are gone, lights have passed me by
My days were long taking shelter from the sky, sky
And there's a pulpit in my head that's turned
Into a garden waiting for her lonely cry, cry

'Cause there's bullets in the fire
I believe I lost my head
Will you ever know what was sent down
Before those things went

And here's my Gods, long before my head had turned
To the blue sky speaking words
Reasons why all my time was spent making wine to bait the drunk
I'd have to find now, now, now

Wake up, your memory's choking
Wake up, your hand's have forgotten you
Wake up, your wings have been tied too long, too long yeah
Wake up, it's time to go, well it's time to go

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Attitude - Lyrics - Metallica

Title: Attitude
Artist: Metallica
Composer(s): Kirk L Hammett, James Alan Hetfield, Lars Ulrich

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
1, 2, 3, 4

Suppose I say, I'm never satisfied
Suppose I say, he cuts the roots
To make the tree survive

Just let me kill you for a while
Just let me kill you for a smile
Just let me kill you once
I'm oh, so bored to death

Oh, I hunger
I hunger
I eat

Born into attitude
Asleep at the wheel
Throw all your bullets in the fire
And run like hell
Why cure the fever?
What ever happened to sweat?

Suppose I say, the vultures smile at me
Suppose I say, I sent them down
And they plan to pick you clean

And satisfaction this way comes
And satisfaction this way comes
And satisfactions here and gone
Gone, yeah, gone again

Oh, I hunger
Oh, I hunger
I eat

Born into attitude
Asleep at the wheel
Throw all your bullets in the fire
And stand there

Born into attitude
Twist mother tongue
Throw all your bullets in the fire
And run like hell
Why cure the fever?
What ever happened to sweat?

Just let me kill you for a while
Just let me kill you for a smile
Just let me kill you once for me
I'm bored to death

And satisfaction this way comes
And satisfaction this way comes
And satisfactions here and gone
Gone, gone again

Yeah, I hunger
Oh, I hunger
I eat

Born into attitude
Asleep at the wheel
Throw all your bullets in the fire
And stand there

Born into attitude
Twist mother tongue
Throwing all your bullets in the fire
And run like hell
Why cure the fever?
What ever happened to sweat?

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Dirty Ryders - Lyrics - The Lox

Title: Dirty Ryders
Artist: The Lox
Composer(s): Michael Gomez, David Styles, Jayson Phillips, Sean Jacobs

Lyric:
Yeah, yeah, yeah, what up Looch
We did it again shocks, no doubt
Yeah, still, ain't nothin' changed
It's still a ghost baby
You see me don't say shit nigga
What, yo, hey yo

You know that motherfucker Sheek Looch is a gladiator
Like Russell Crowe, with my heat in a radiator
I come through slow you out there I'm lettin' it go
I got fire for ya ducks you want lissome dro'

That's why I ain't got mercy for pigs
Off the roof, I let shit parachute to their wigs and their kids
I treat their face like I'm goin' to my safe
Ten to the left, six to the right

240 pounds and I ain't tryin' to fight
And they don't make cuffs strong enough to lock me in
And your vest ain't thick enough to stop all ten
The sergeant be callin' up ya next-of-kin

But fuck that, my guns gotta speech problem
They stutter when they spit
Go through you when they hit, my shit ain't got no manners
Chromed out sniper rifle with the tank bananas, uh uh

Training day, you could hear the sirens
All the cops crooked like who you people jivin'
Head shots, shoot between the eyes
And bullets in the dome like all you cowards dyin'

Knife work, stab you in the heart and the throat
And we don't leave till you gargle or choke
And we Black Mob, L O X guerrilla niggas
Show you how to kill a nigga, you ain't got to feel a nigga

I love my niggas, why wouldn't I?
Die for my motherfuckers, how couldn't I?
Want a lot of things but it just ain't affordable
Only thing that count when you die is what they thought of you

Kid comin' through with a clip full of cop killers
Booted out something decent
Up to light a blunt, wild out, and shoot it out with the precinct
Cops stay crooked, my niggas ain't nice see

'Cause the block stay cookin' I'm coolin' it off
When the pigs come through they medullas is off
Where I'm from dog you rude or you soft
If you say you a killer niggas'll ask you who did you off

So P keep this hustlin' up
When it comes to these guns or these knives dog I'm fuckin' you up
And baby we can knuckle it up, I'm always up for a brawl
S P and I done been through it all

Training day, you could hear the sirens
All the cops crooked like who you people jivin'
Head shots, shoot between the eyes
And bullets in the dome like all you cowards dyin'

Knife work, stab you in the heart and the throat
And we don't leave till you gargle or choke
And we Black Mob, L O X guerrilla niggas
Show you how to kill a nigga, you ain't got to feel a nigga

Hey yo, now I know you seen niggas with half a bodies
On top of skateboards, the work of shotties
Shit bags and all that, back to potties
I ain't a playa but my nine keeps 'em hotties

And we don't run when we hear
I just hit em' off with cake so they give us a break
And let us know who rattin', I leave their bodies in the
Middle of Manhattan, where Wall Street at, come on

I said all the cops hate us and they got a good reason to
Forty bricks a month, no account unbelievable
Homicide here and there, bitches in pajamas
Holdin' llamas in they dairy-air, playin' the fun

We the 3 5 4 boys, play if you one
All they do is call the cop on us
See us in the hood they know we got the glocks on us poppin' 'em off
Niggas call me the cab driver now I'm droppin em' off

Training day, you could hear the sirens
All the cops crooked like who you people jivin'
Head shots, shoot between the eyes
And bullets in the dome like all you cowards dyin'

Knife work, stab you in the heart and the throat
And we don't leave till you gargle or choke
And we Black Mob, L O X guerrilla niggas
Show you how to kill a nigga, you ain't got to feel a nigga

Training day, you could hear the sirens
All the cops crooked like who you people jivin'
Head shots, shoot between the eyes
And bullets in the dome like all you cowards dyin'

Knife work, stab you in the heart and the throat
And we don't leave till you gargle or choke
And we Black Mob, L O X guerrilla niggas
Show you how to kill a nigga, you ain't got to feel a nigga

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Light Up Ya Lighter - Lyrics - Yell Fire! - Michael Franti

Title: Light Up Ya Lighter
Album: Yell Fire!
Artist: Michael Franti
Composer(s): Manas Itene, Michael Franti

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
It never makes no sense
It never makes no sense
Fire, fire, fire, light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire

Armageddon is a deadly day
Armageddon is a deadly way
They comin' for you everyday
While Senators on holiday

The Army recruiters in the parking lot
Hustling kids there jugglin' pot
Listen young man, listen to my plan
Gonna make you money, gonna make you a man

Bom, bom, here?s what you get
An M-6 and a Kevlar vest
You might come home with one less leg
But this thing will surely keep a bullet out of your chest

So come on come on, sign up, come on
This one?s nothing like Vietnam
Except for the bullets, except for the bombs
Except for the youth that?s gone

So we keep it on, 'til ya comin' home
Higher and higher
Fire, fire, fire, light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire

So we keep it on 'til ya comin' home
Higher and higher
Fire, fire, fire, light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire

Tell me President tell me if you will
How many people does a smart bomb kill?
How many of 'em do you think we got?
The General says, we never miss a shot

And we never ever ever keep a body count
We killin' so efficiently we can?t keep count
In the Afghan hills the rebels still fightin'
Opium fields keep providin'

The best heroin that money can buy
And nobody knows where Osama Bin hidin'
The press conferences keep on lyin'
Like we don?t know

So we keep it on, 'til ya comin' home
Higher and higher
Fire, fire, fire, light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire

So we keep it on 'til ya comin' home
Higher and higher
Fire, fire, fire, light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire

Some say engine engine number nine
Machine guns on a New York transit line
The war for oil is a war for the beast
The war on terror is a war on peace

Tellin' you they?re gonna protect you
And tellin' you that they support the troops
And don?t let them fool you with their milk and honey
No they only want your money

One step forward and two steps back
One step forward and two steps back
Why do veterans get no respect?
PTSD and a broken back

Take a look at where your money's gone seen
Take a look at what they spend it on
No excuses, no illusions
Light up ya lighter bring it home

So we keep it on, 'til ya comin' home
Higher and higher
Fire, fire, fire, light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire

So we keep it on 'til ya comin' home
Higher and higher
Fire, fire, fire, light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire

So we keep it on, 'til ya comin' home
Higher and higher
Fire, fire, fire, light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire

So we keep it on 'til ya comin' home
Higher and higher
Fire, fire, fire, light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire

Fire, fire, fire
Yeah you know so light up ya lighter
Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire
No, light up ya lighter

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Word On The Street - Lyrics - Inspectah Deck

Title: Word On The Street
Artist: Inspectah Deck
Composer(s): J Hunter, Leon Moore

Lyric:
Smooth getaway, yeah
One time on my ass
(Getaway)
'Bout to make this hundred yard dash
With the cash

I'm fleein' the crime scene on the major decon
Power steerin', lost the handle in the Jeep spin
Deep in the seat, high pursuit by the precinct
My co-defendant turned stake and let the beast in

They rush my old Earth lab, grabbed 50 g's cash
In the stash and let the glock splash
Sun dash down the fire escape past the weed gate
The weed gate, thought it was a sting, popped the tre' 8

Jakes givin' chase, now the dread's my 'space
I was creepin' down the staircase, we met face to face
In the lobby, cold stares, show no fear
We out for now, but next time we might go there

'Cuz po's here, must've turned down the walkie talkie
I thought I heard one tell the other that he caught me
Damn, they got my man, he knows shit
Bitch nigga that I rolled with told shit

I layed low, 007 'til I get dark
He told where my wiz lives and where the whip's parked
Got my address off the license plate
That eliminates, headin' to my next restin' place

Uncertain, my wiz peaked from behind the curtain
It seen the high beam from the chicky lurkin'
The high speed chase, got my swervin'
I needed a diversion, crashed in the side of a suburban
In the mirror, I'm starin' at the eyes of the lord

Couldn't jump out, fucked up the driver side door
Called China, meet me in a half with the pathfinder
No time to talk, I'll fill you in when I find ya
Stopped at a neighborhood diner, brought me some attire
And swore to hold me down under fire

The word on the street, they can't trace my rap sheets
Still I creap swift, tryin' to slip all heat
The word on the street, this thing's way beyond deep
Promise me you'll keep ya mouth close and don't leak

The word on the street, the evidence's concrete
My cold thief mysteriously got set free
The word on the street, the photograph
Let the beast splash through the projects, the last you weap

You bein' watched like you new on the block from roof tops
Get your moves on these hot shots, pop, music stops
Party's over, bold soldier move for his holster
Shot the lights out, struck the bouncer in his shoulder

Hard times for po-9, can't control the mass' sweep
For move backstage, we sling V.I.P. passes
Jakes sprayin' mace, riots takin' place
When the Clan show they face, the fans show they place

Get your blunt rolled, fuck the 5-0, they want it dun' know
Bitches get tripped over, niggaz wildin' the front row
Fire marshall catch a beat down, tryin' to cut my sound
Radio dispatcher, back-up, bustin' rounds

Without intermission from a crowd's position
Bullets ricochet off the strobe lights, strikin' Christians
My nigga slipped in, 'nuff ammunition
To bust back, fuck that, them out of town cats gon' take the rap

It's war on the dance floor, quarter to 4
Before we peeled off, they tried to seal off the back door
Gats for the beast, high pursuit down the side streets
Shot up my getaway Jeep, crashed the front glass

Flew the head rest off the passenger seat
I grabbed the heat, catched in the wif in and escaped on feet
While the locals interrogated for names and photos
Work for 5-0, swappin' info for dough

The word on the street, they can't trace my rap sheets
Still I creap swift, tryin' to slip all heat
The word on the street, this thing's way beyond deep
Promise me you'll keep ya mouth close and don't leak

The word on the street, the evidence's concrete
My cold thief mysteriously got set free
The word on the street, the photograph
Let the beast splash through the projects, the last you weap

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112638e47c4c0af1843034d2749582e1

Mama'S House - Lyrics - MTA2: Baptized In Dirty Water - David Banner

Title: Mama'S House
Album: MTA2: Baptized In Dirty Water
Artist: David Banner
Composer(s): Lavell W Crump, C Mcdaniel, D Menefield

Lyric:
David Banner, one of the most phenomenal feats of all time
Frekaznatcha, Alabama, Mississippi, David Banner

Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face

Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face

Hoe I ain't got respect, I'm comin' straight to ya crib
Drag you out in the yard, run a shank through ya ribs
I said boy, dirty, dirty boy
What you think that these bullets and guns is made for?

Bustin' on a bitch, ditches is where it lye
Bullets fly through the air, tell them crackers to die
I'm the trillest, clack-up, peel-it, dumpin' slugs til' you feel us
Banner, Frekaznatcha, ridin' until you kill us

Fuck it and if we die tell mama never to cry
I'm comin' back like Jason, bumpin' that 'Playa Fly'
Higher than a bitch, gone off that 'dro
Yeah, I'm dead though but God knows, I ain't no hoe

Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face

Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face

Keep my name out ya mouth, keep my name out ya mouth
Fo' we run up in yo house, fo' we run up in yo house
Keep my name out ya mouth, keep my name out ya mouth
Fo' we run up in yo house, fo' we run up in yo house

So you claimin' that you head bustin'
Come and feel these leads thrustin'
Me and my niggaz ain't scared of nuthin'
Wanna see some red rushin'

Mississippi burnin' this, Alabama turnin' this
Together we got that fire bitch, biggin' up we ride bitch
Bet ya you won't step outside trick, come step outside trick
You don't wanna collide with, my crew, we ride bitch

Sicker than a motherfucker
Crazy like them terrorist fuckas
When we hit yo block you duck us
When we hit yo block, it's ruwkus

Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face

Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face

At yo mama's house nigga
Muthafucka, goddamn, weak bitch
At yo mama's house nigga
Muthafucka, goddamn, weak bitch

Grab that hoe by the hair, throw that nigga in the yard
Then ya stomp that ass out, screamin', "Bitch you ain't hard"
Grab that hoe by the hair, throw that nigga in the yard
Then ya stomp that ass out, screamin', "Bitch you ain't hard"

I don't wanna be a thug, but fuck around in the club
I'm knockin' yo ass out, then dancin' off in yo blood
Tell ya mama that I'm sorry, but yo ass gotta go
Might bring yo ass out or I'm kickin' in ya dough

Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face

Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Let's take this shit to his mama's house, his mama's house
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face
Pull that bitch out in the yard, slap that hoe in the face

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55c04ded48363e5f85e3188f0fdda881

Rumble In The Jungle - Lyrics - A Tribe Called Quest

Title: Rumble In The Jungle
Artist: A Tribe Called Quest
Composer(s): Stig Anderson, Benny Andersson, Jerry Duplessis, Kamal Fareed, John R Forte, Lauryn Hill, Wyclef Jean, Samuel Michel, Trevor Smith, Chip Taylor, Bjorn Ulvaeus

Lyric:
(Come on)
Root to the fruit, more bass than Bootsy Collins
You verses me, that's like Ali verses Foreman
(Aha)

God's act, stand back and watch, Devil's time out
Can't be timed with no swatch watch, who I am? The black Abraham?
Zunga, zunga, zang, yellow man, Vietnam
Add an extra bar as I spar with literature
Taking kingdoms from tsars, winning more wars than the Moors

Hey, what's the deal? I seen the Devil spar with Allah
Mathematics was the key to set my whole race free
You might debate we, a refugee
No harm hurt me, dying, thirsty from the struggle
To my own hustle bubble, on the low, woe is me

To show the Free Bob right, the righteous Asiatic thinker
While Satan rob light, civilized like the Molly
Burgundy, wildy rocking seen the fifth when Ali clocked him
John Forte will keep you locked in

People all around, you got to recognize and witness
The Mister who swift enough to knock you out with Mic fitness
Hands blistered from holding the mics tight
Some say, it's fright night

Well, throw the R after the F 'cause I'm gonna take away your breath
The bell rings and now it's just a daily operation
Yo, you saw my lubrication, you can see this occupation
(The winner)
Eh, you know we're from Q-Borough
L-Booie and Clef the trainers, Prazwell promote the throw

We used to bite bullets with the pig skin casing
Now, we perfect slang like a gang of street masons
(Uh)
Scribe check make connects, true pyramid architects
(Yeah)
Replace the last name with the X, the man's got a God complex
(X)

But take the text and change the picture
Watch Muhammad play the messenger like Holy Muslim scriptures
Take orders from only God, only war when it's Jihad
See Ali appears in Zaire to reconnect 400 years

But we the people dark but equal give love to such things
To the man who made the fam' remember when we were kings
Blocks on fire, fiends getting higher
(Block's on fire tonight, uh, huh)

Robbing blue collar, killing for a dollar
(Hey, yo, we rob them blue collars, stick 'em up)
Youths get tired, we're dealing with them liars
(Ali, ah, yeah, Ali, ah, yeah, we're dealing with too many liars)

From Brooklyn to Zaire, we need a ghetto Messiah
(Uh, huh, ah, yeah, ah, yeah, come on)
Send me an angel in the morning, baby
Send me an angel in the morning, darling
Send me Muhammad in the morning, baby
Send me an angel in the morning, darling

Once the pen hits the pad it's danger, to this, I be no stranger
Step inside the ring and I'll derange you, I'm hearing no comments
(Come on)
Everyone looks despondent, dejected, rejected similar to Liston
Catching lists, beat it, sonny, my man is still the greatest in this

To hell with Frazier yappin' about that negative shit
Now listen, you can try and escape if you want to
But ask yourself, who the hell you gonna run to
Like Sade Abu you got a punch that I can sleep to
Fugees, Tribe, Busta Rhymes forever coming through

We sing Amazing Grace over two dollar plate
One roll snake eyes like Jake The Snake
Many lies put up for stakes, wash our sins at the Great Lakes
You and I cannot see eye to eye, so therefore we cannot relate

I'm here when I make myself crystal clear
You fled to Cape Fear when I laced you in Zaire
Tussle with a lasso in the Royal Rumble
Separate boys from men in the concrete jungle

I remember when Cassius Clay flipped the script, taking trips
To Zimbabwe, Africans started calling the God Ali Bumbaye
(So bwoy)
It be the God stricken, God nutrition, lightly stricken
(Ha)
Blow that make you feel like you was poison bitten

Ha, yo, I'm 'bout to blister you and your sister
Predicting every ass whipping before my fights my nigga
This be your last warning once you walk past the doorman
Ali and Foreman gonna lock ass until the morning

Marvelous finances provided by Joseph Mobutu
Special guests of honor like the Archbishop Desmond Tutu
We watched the Rumble In The Jungle
To see who be the targeted uncle to be the first to fall and fumble

Nuff blows they getting thrown, like solid milestones
Internally shaking up niggas, imbalance your chromosomes
With the force of a thousand warriors
When I bust your ass identify me as the lord victorious

Blocks on fire, fiends getting higher
(You're a star, blocks on fire, you're a star)
Robbing blue collar, killing for a dollar
(You're a star, yeah rob them blue collars, you're a star)

Youths get tired, we're dealing with them liars
(You're a star, youths getting tired, you're a star
We're dealing with too many liars)
From Brooklyn to Zaire, we need a ghetto Messiah
(You're a star)

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646cd3b115d7960929793a94d25af7e7

Bad Boy This, Bad Boy That - Lyrics - Bad Boy'S Da Band

Title: Bad Boy This, Bad Boy That
Artist: Bad Boy'S Da Band
Composer(s): Lynese Wiley, Tony Dofat, Lloyd Mathis, Rodney Hill, Freddrick Watson

Lyric:
Bad Boy, baby
We the last standin' check the records
Check the score
Da Band, the next generation of bad motherfucker, come on

Yo, I'm back and I'm hittin' 'em hard
Tits don't sag, I don't need no push-up bra
Bitch you mad, Babs got a brand new car
Drop top in the hood, I'm the ghetto superstar
Breathe, pop bottles and roll up weed
Bab's strong arm bitches, like I'm Hercules
You got a problem, come see the girl, I'll solve'em
Big belly bitches we starve 'em

Niggas in the hood, we rob 'em, whenever they flossin'
Better tuck in ya chain bitch and keep on walkin'
You a thug, why you keep on talkin', let's get it crackin'
Get a bitch stomped out in the club, I make it happen
I got this, Diddy done let me out
Hot chick, spit sick when I open my mouth

All I hear is Bad Boy this and Bad Boy that
(My year, now so you girls betta leave)
This Bad Boy will beat you down, wit a baseball bat
(Me and my people comin' and we rollin' six deep)

I'ma changed man, since I made the band
Nobody, gave a damn, no one gave a hand
Made man, made the band, wave ya hands
Rocks in the watch, I think I'm 'bout to blaze the band
Elliot Ness, you know I'm here to save the land
Don't try to lie and say the liquor is what made you ran
Go somewhere, and be a maintenance man, a janitor
Dog don't blame me, blame ya manager

Keep ya hands out my pockets nigga
Franchise like I play for the Rockets nigga
'Who Shot Ya', 'Biggie Smalls', Tupac ya nigga
'Ready to Die', 'All Eyes' on the project nigga
You stocky, I put somethin' in ya biceps niggaz
I can't help it, I'm a violent nigga, silence

All I hear is Bad Boy this and Bad Boy that
(But you fuckin' wit the wildest nigga)
This Bad Boy will beat you down wit a baseball bat
(That chain, fugazy, you ain't stylin' nigga)

There he go, hoppin' out the G5 Wagon
G-coated, Ree's, Baud's and Tee's swaggin'
Runnin' game on ya bitch, ya boy's a pimp
I need a bitch wit no type of common sense, that about it
If you bout it then throw it up
Got that fire and you ready to light it, then tote it up
Now that's gangsta, don't make me spank ya
You, run in that water now ya life is in danger

Ride wit the underworld, that keep bangers
Niggas that be off that frail, them beef bringers
Picture a nigga tryin' to carry me
It won't happen, I won't let you niggaz worry me
I'ma stay thugged out till they bury me
When they do, I can't wait to see Barry B

All I hear is Bad Boy this and Bad Boy that
(I'ma Dirty South nigga from the dirty streets)
Bad Boy will beat you down wit a baseball bat because
(Get crunk, get buck, get the fuck off ya feet)

Best believe these dudes ain't never kill nuthin'
I'm Fred, you want him dead, put some bullets in his coffin
Lord forgive me, but these niggaz is playin' wit the boss man
You don't wanna get in the trunk, you gettin' tossed in
I'm the type you squeeze tight, and you bring your cousin'
Man homeboy that's y'all man

Man I got it all planned, Diddy fathered the game
I'm 'Bad', but not a 'Boy', I got a part of his name
And homie, I see you slippin', then it's off wit ya chain
Yo head, harder than wood then I'm sawin' yo brain
A Don, I mean what I say, and I say what I mean
I eat, shit, and sleep yeah, I lay wit them things
Bad Boy wit Universal, so don't play wit the team

Bad Boy, so don't play wit the team
Bad Boy, so don't play wit the team
Bad Boy, so don't play wit the team

Da Band, Da Band, Da Band, 2003
Fire, fire, Too Hot For T.V.
Too hot to hold in the headphones this time
Too hot to hold to cold to fold, come on, and now
Give my man Diddy the throne, and don't play wit the king
I'm here baby, Miami, Choppa City, Babs, Sara, Dylan, Ness
Fire, yeah, and we won't stop
Da Band, fire, yeah

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d25bf8b7364275fdd7c0b82763302d7e

My Music - Lyrics - On Top of Our Game - Dem Franchize Boyz

Title: My Music
Album: On Top of Our Game
Artist: Dem Franchize Boyz
Composer(s): Chad Butler, Jermaine Dupri, Bernard James Freeman, Maurice Gleaton, Bernard Leverette, James Phillips, Gerald Tiller, Leroy Williams, Jamall Willingham

Lyric:
Dis dat soso def shit

Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club

Every time I do it, u know just who I do it fo'
My o.g. niggaz, my gurls in the strip club
And fa my top cats thats block cruisin'
Thats for the coops serve the rocks on the block music

And any club, any party don't rock dis
I'm sendin' my trend dawg its lean wit it, rock wit it
And fo' the projects buildings behind the locked gates
They do wut they gotta do and hustle at a top rate

Movin dem o's makin' dey pension
We grind til we ride sittin' on 24 inches
My ghetto niggaz and bitches know how to keep it hood
I keep it gutta Im'a gangsta u know just how I do it

Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club

I?m the shit you can't say I?m not
I keep white keep purp like a crayon box
Aay, and got a nice whipped game and I can't lie
Shit I could cook coke on a camp fire

Put it in my hands, I can make it go
If I can't move it then I'ma call Tony yo
I let the bullets from my gun spread
Sippin' hard while u down on the corn bread

First I droppin? the mix
Hit the pot like a Edward and bought 8 bricks
Yup, in my white tee so u know I keep it white
And I keep green like a traffic light

Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club

Yo pimpin', u know who it be its B.U.N to the little b
One hundred and one percent gangsta check my pedagree
Movin? thru yo? city like a muthafuckin? mayor
Hate on me nigga like I muthafuckin? care

I?m the king of the trill, got the streets in a head lock
A head busta piece so heads up I keep the lead cocked
Sellin' mo yayo than u could stuff in a bread box
And im'a keep on pushin even when the fed's flop

I represent the trill, I stand up fo? the hood
I?m holdin? down the underground just like a nigga should
UGK and DFB we do it fo? the block
Dem d boyz in the trap holdin? work keepin? it cocked
It don?t stop

I make my music for the ones servin' J's, servin' j's
The bitches in the club shakin' ass fo the pay, fo the pay
Fo' the ones one the block, ten hoe block holders
Fo' the ones that'll knock ya head off ya shoulders

Thats gangsta I doin? fo? the thugz
And the bitches in the hood on erry type of drug
Shipped across the border from purp to the cola
I hustle spreewells like fa three ten and molderz

Pond shop niggaz, keep a couple handguns
Chopper in the trunk and they keep one in the head son
B. un is out the test u wanna test son
My motive is to kill a nigga shoot above the chest boy

Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club

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6dd34a129caeeac457bfa6cf8b1bd782

The Profit - Lyrics - Me Myself & I - Fat Joe

Title: The Profit
Album: Me Myself & I
Artist: Fat Joe
Composer(s): Joseph Cartagena, Khaled Mohammed Khaled, Dwayne Carter

Lyric:
We gettin' money, man, I'll show you how to turn profit
In the hood, they call me 'Joey, The Profit'
First you cop it, then you cook it, then you chop it
What the fuck, boy? Bitch ass niggaz, they can't stop us

We turn a profit, p-p-profit, the profit
We makin' profit, p-p-profit, profit
Yeah, in the hood they call me 'Joey, The Profit'
If you listen close, my niggaz, you bound to see a profit

I'm New York's livin' legend, the streets know me well
Stand in the line of fire, it's gonna to be hell
You're dancin' wit the Devil, tonight's your last night
Picture me, Lil' Eazy E, pistol fahrenheit

L.A. County, got work in Slawson
We get it poppin' back to Roxbury in Boston
The streets love me, see they named me Coca
We the Puerto Rican version of La Costra Nostra

You can find me in the kitchen with my apron on
Somethin' like a chef, yeah, I get my Raekwon on
Joey, the mayor, I get ki's to the city
And I got 'em cheap, the whole hood could come with me, nigga

We gettin' money, man, I'll show you how to turn profit
In the hood, they call me 'Joey, The Profit'
First you cop it, then you cook it, then you chop it
What the fuck, boy? Bitch ass niggaz, they can't stop us

We turn a profit, p-p-profit, the profit
We makin' profit, p-p-profit, profit
Yeah, in the hood they call me 'Joey, The Profit'
If you listen close, my niggaz, you bound to see a profit

I'm gettin' money, I'm the President Junior
And in the hood, they call me 'Weezy, The Future'
And everybody that's around me will shoot ya
And nigga, my band let 'em blow like twofers, yeah

Clap, I got 'em, I g-g-got 'em, I got 'em
Cook, I got 'em, I g-g-got 'em, I got 'em
And in the hood, they call me 'Weezy, The Future'
If listen close, my nigga, you might see the future

Young Wayne in the buildin', where your stove at?
Cook 'em up, strap 'em down, where the road at?
I'm strapped up, plenty bullets, nigga, hold that
Now you steppin' out in led shower, where your robe at?

I knock your earth off, damn, where ya globe at?
Fuck the coach, I keep shootin' like Kobe
The money knows me better then anybody
Bitch, I'm paid, forget about it

I'm sittin' in the Coupe wit the titties outted, the nipples chrome
Or that big black thing wit the slippers on that bullshit
Dippin' on them bitches, get off dick, you soft pricks
I'm from New Orleans, homeless but don't forget

The sun even shines on dog shit
And dog, I've been hustlin' since the day I was barkin'
I walk in this bitch like what it do
The money home, stop hatin', get your money on, nigga

We gettin' money, man, I'll show you how to turn profit
In the hood, they call me 'Joey, The Profit'
First you cop it, then you cook it, then you chop it
What the fuck, boy? Bitch ass niggaz, they can't stop us

We turn a profit, p-p-profit, the profit
We makin' profit, p-p-profit, profit
Yeah, in the hood they call me 'Joey, The Profit'
If you listen close, my niggaz, you bound to see a profit

This year All Star Weekend was off the chain
Literally niggaz comin' off wit them chains
Put the devi to his chest, homey going die tonight
Then his jaw dropped like Napoleon Dynamite

Jack boy, I been since I'm a toddler
My dad was sleepin', I was runnin' through his pockets
Oh yeah, you ready for war, then what's stoppin' you?
I hope you know them Bentley doors' not chopperproof

And they go bratatat just like them bullets dancin'
Come up short wit my dough, I'm 'bout to pull a Manson
Take your kids for ransom, yeah, it's payback
Next time I front you some birds, you better pay crack

What? Shit, I don't know nothin'
He might be the police comin' up with assumptions
All I know is this nigga here is about to meet God
If you don't bring me some ki's or bring me 50 large

We gettin' money, man, I'll show you how to turn profit
In the hood, they call me 'Joey, The Profit'
First you cop it, then you cook it, then you chop it
What the fuck, boy? Bitch ass niggaz, they can't stop us

We turn a profit, p-p-profit, the profit
We makin' profit, p-p-profit, profit
Yeah, in the hood they call me 'Joey, The Profit'
If you listen close, my niggaz, you bound to see a profit

Profit, p-p-profit, the profit
Profit, p-p-profit, the profit
Profit, p-p-profit, the profit
Profit, p-p-profit, the profit

Yeah, it's Coca, baby, coke season
Young Money Weezy, Terror era
Gotta be Novocaine on this motherfucker's shit ones
Yeah, nigga, brrat

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21f388330422c061f3dc68fd40964040

Written In The Heart - Lyrics - Midnight Oil

Title: Written In The Heart
Artist: Midnight Oil
Composer(s): Robert Hirst, Martin Rotsey, James Moginie

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
The God forsaken rifleman stands rigid at the bar
The kids discover victims in the rubble and the tar
They're married to ambition to the slogans of the war
Slogans that used to be scrawled on the wall
Are written in the heart

A woman bows to mecca and she struggles to her feet
It's better since the president took shooting off the street
She pictures all the poverty the cursed holy war
Pictures that used to be scrawled on the wall
Are written in the heart

The elders make a promise and they forge it in the fire
The general's car is sabotaged, four bullets in the tire
With the burning of the words there goes the scorching of the earth
The words that used to be scrawled on the wall
Are written in the heart

The words that used to be scrawled on the wall
Are written in the heart
The words that used to be scrawled on the wall
Are written in the heart

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d1fefcb04d83fba1d93af6c79c421a0f

Pick Up The Bones - Lyrics - Brutal Planet - Alice Cooper

Title: Pick Up The Bones
Album: Brutal Planet
Artist: Alice Cooper
Composer(s): Alice Cooper, Bob Marlette

Lyric:
Collecting pieces of my family
In an old pillow case
This one has a skull

But it don't have a face
These look like the arms of father so strong
And the ring on this finger

Means my grandma is gone
Here's some legs in a cloud
Where my sister once played

Here's some mud made of blood
And these teeth are decayed
The ear of my brother

The hand of a friend
And I just can't
Put them back together again

Pick up the bones
And set them on fire
Follow the smoke going higher and higher

Pick up the bones
And wish them goodnight
Pray them a prayer and turn out the light

There are stains on the floor
Where kitchen once stood
There are ribs on the fire place
Mixed with the wood

There are forces in the air
Ghosts in the wind
Some bullets in the back
And some scars on the skin

There were demons with guns
Who marched through this place
Killing everything that breathed
They're an inhuman race

There are holes in the walls
Bloody hair on the bricks
And the smell of this hell
Is making me sick

Pick up the bones
And set them on fire
Follow the smoke going higher and higher

Pick up the bones
And wish them goodnight
Pray them a prayer and turn out the light

Pick up the bones
And set them on fire
Follow the scope going higher and higher

Pick up the bones
And wish them goodnight
Pray them a prayer and turn out the light

Now maybe someday
The suns gonna shine
Flowers will bloom
And all will be fine

But nothing will grow
On this burnt cursed ground
'Cause the breathe of the death
Is the only sound

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05ba77b647421d8de03962141741d297

Run - Lyrics - Cappadonna

Title: Run
Artist: Cappadonna
Composer(s): R Diggs, D Hill

Lyric:
Crack backs heavy on the cash all night
At the drug site we hung tight
Three o'clock in the night ounces of coke dirty kicks
Money gets low in the street yo
Tough times nickels thats bigger than dimes, you know the flavor
Ruff neck city ain't nothin sweet kid ain't nothin pretty

New York be poppin' the cork on crime look at the nine
Summertime in the court house oh, shit whats mine
Two to four three to nine benatoned it what
We all ran coke grams, you outta luck
Young bucks carrying gats, stay fat for what
We all slipped through the po-nig nobody bust

Freeze, we in the breeze with the blunts
Nobody drop the trees or they fronts
Meet on the roof look off the front play low
Watch out for po-po thats how it go
Three in the whip, we not lag it though, run for the gusto
Peep Marcel and Brown comin' around dippin' the logo
Run if you ever got somethin' on you son

You best a run, be off the set, bounce on the projects
Cease another vick, weed in your piss and parole gotsta have it
Slide like a rabbit move quick this is it
Hang jump from the fire escape, I made it
Drop the clip fingerprints all on it, ah fuck those bullets
I'm losin' my pants, I advance in my speed, succeed in my travel
Dance on 'em, and I fucked up whip, make my heart skip
Caught up in the drug traffic I astounded surrounded by the outfit

One twentieth tried to knock my whole click
Run! These black boys that take none
Don't cop out the shit, take the three six and you add that shit
Run! If you ever pack a nice size gun
Run! If you sell drugs to your dun
Run! Be the fuck out word God run hard

Between two cars we park, pepper got sparked
In the dark heads scramble at the six ooh
Spy's lookin' at you one two lookin' too
How you roll what you stole let me see you
Nah fuck you, if you wasn't a cop I might bust you, I don't trust you
Coppers lust over my crew, forget a curfew

We gather in the plaza to jerk through
Three sixty with the crime waves modern day slave
First one to peel, it's not real
Plant that as a matter of fact we crack 'em down
Us against brown, run fast like you ran track
Never look back push the Acc on the sidewalk
Crash, toss the heat and tear ass
Zig zag till you reach your stash

Run! If you sell drugs to your dun
Run! Be the fuck out word to God run hard

Me and the God back to back one eighty five
With the four five survive that shit
You just came even though I remember your face
Even though I seen you rollin' there bowlin' in green kid
This cream will get you rocked, knocked if you don't run
Don't grab my jacket don't get the fuck off, break north
Or go to jail, word life is strife, on the block it's too hot

You got my man shot, nigga run
We wylin on Staten Island it's one thing bein' in the bing
And not smilin' on the gate it's too late
Fate held you over, jakes runnin' for snakes
The white rover, with the plates burn down Gee street
Comin' from outta state, see me in the drivers seat
Coolin' without the I.D., it's not me
Babylon to the God, D I V I N E

Run! If you sell drugs to the dun
Run! If you pack a nice size gun
Run! If you want to still have fun
Run! Be the fuck out word God run hard

Motherfucker
Run motherfucker run

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d36418e343a249b2de0e5bccb9fde3a0

Revolution - Lyrics - The Notorious K.I.M. - Lil' Kim

Title: Revolution
Album: The Notorious K.I.M.
Artist: Lil' Kim
Composer(s): G Jones, M Winans, Sean Combs, Kimberly Jones

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
S W nine millimeter, check
Long-nose double barreled rifle, check
Semi-automatic infrared laser beam shot, check
Alright Puff, I'm ready to go

Threw the clips around the shoulders, toasters in the holster
Kim let's go! Slow down bab' bro
You with the rap Rambo, Tony Montana
Here's a hammer, a camera and a 'Life After Death' bandanna

Here take it, in case I don't make it
'Cause if my life don't end, I'm damn sure gon' fake it
The way I see it, mmm, sexual
In the gunfight, two on three, you on me

Dawg, I got shit to make the world shake
One mistake, blaow, start a earthquake
Fuck them niggaz, them niggaz dust to me
And if I knock Cyrus off that's a plus for me

And the funny thing about it, I'm a bitch
And got niggaz runnin' from me, like the Olympics
And I told my man Gutter I'ma get him
And every shell I spit, is guaranteed to hit him, blaka

Pressure down below, fire in de hole
Lose control, got nowhere to go

I heard Cease and Puff callin' like the Holy Tabernacle
I'll be down in a minute, I'm drinkin' a Snapple

A Snapple? Bitch I got bombs and shit
Grenades and razor blades and alarms and shit
You better come on, girl, throw a hat on that weave
I'm tryin' to catch this nigga Cyrus, 'fore him an' his boys leave

They at this restaurant that serve African food
Where you allowed to smoke weed and the waiters is type rude
You see, I used to date this bitch from Botswana
Half-African but she looked like Madonna

Aiyyo check it, she had a tiger for a pet
I'll never forget, the restaurant is where we met
And her girlfriend Lizette, that bitch is a freak
I used to fuck her in the ass while my girl was asleep

And she the one who told me where these cats is at
I can't wait to get the gat and holla back, Kim c'mon

Pressure down below, fire in de hole
Lose control, got nowhere to go

We came to a red light, gave right-of-way to pedestrians
Two black and white lesbians
The nigga Puff ready to holla at these bitches
I'm like, "Yo Dawg, them bitches down with them niggaz"

And never would the drugs make the bitch slack up
I got hit men, spreaded through the restaurant for backup
And we communicate through headsets and walkie-talkies
Them niggaz just bitches like my Yorkie

Pigs like to forfeit, we on point like snipers
Cyrus and his Doolies, is Clueless like the movies
All I can think about, is how he killed my man Smiles
Cut his head off, masochist style

Yeah, Cyrus did it, Cyrus the Virus they call him
When I finish with him please, his name is Swiss Cheese
My main focus, is his right hand man Mouse
An' Sheisty and two-sided, profession dick rider

And his boys, they seem to be all on his dick
I mean the whole situation is really makin' me sick
And when Cyrus got up, and dipped off to the bathroom
We started suckin' niggaz up like a vacuum

Bullets flyin' nonstop, and bodies droppin'
Puff yelled, "Away", that's the cops then
My trigger finger started itchin'
Then Cyrus came spittin' from the kitchen
And next second, you missed it

Listen, it's soundin' like the 4th of July
Like the solar eclipse is lit right in the sky
I can't believe this guy, he won't fall over
Holes is in his body the size of cup holders

One more shot, he's over, shit Puff, I'm empty
But I'ma hold my breath, til he fall to his death
But he was helpless
This little kid squeezed off in his pelvis

Pressure down below, fire in de hole
Lose control, got nowhere to go

Pressure down below, fire in de hole
Lose control, got nowhere to go

Pressure down below, fire in de hole
Lose control, got nowhere to go

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f1aafe480017fb8a441c5903c6054275

Immortalized - Lyrics - Spice 1

Title: Immortalized
Artist: Spice 1
Composer(s): Ricardo Thomas, Robert Lee Green Jr

Lyric:
Worldwide, immortalized
Immortalized, worldwide
Worldwide, immortalized
Worldwide, worldwide, immortalized

Worldwide, immortalized
Smokin' endo with my killaz, we ride
Heat on the side, hella drama niggas die
In crossfire, can't let 'em slide

See the rigor mortis set in his eyes
Nigga surprise, you was dumped on by some G's on the rise
It shocked yo ass when I pulled out the chrome
I was putting niggas in the tank before this rap shit came along

Immortalized, through this thug shit that niggas are spittin'
A chocolate philly, a bag of sticky green and a game to spit
We on the mash, put a slug in niggas stoppin' my cash
Mothafuckas, wanna see me six feet in the grave

Thinking, I won't last
But I'm a soldier, I told you bitches, know what to fuck
The only way I'm fallin', is slippin' on one of you nigga's blood
I'm in this shit for life and when my casket drop
Then, my thug presence be immortalized, like Biggie and Pac
Hear my shit thump in nigga's trunks for blocks and blocks
Immortal thug, shit'll never stop, immortalized

I can't believe these j-j-jealous niggas don't wanna s-s-see me rise
Thuggin' in the caddy t-t-they got me t-t-thuggin' worldwide
Eternal mobbin' immortalized, immortalized, worldwide, worldwide

I can't believe these j-j-jealous niggas don't wanna s-s-see me rise
Thuggin' in the caddy t-t-they got me t-t-thuggin' worldwide
Eternal mobbin' immortalized, immortalized, worldwide, worldwide

One thug to the niggas, like eazy soldiers who put a dent in the game
It ain't the same, candy coated niggas claiming the fame
It's not that my brain, this thug shit'll drive a nigga insane
Diamond links and chains, with infra red we aim

Niggas loced up for the cash, when the real G's came
T-t-thuggin' laced up in my veins, I can't be changed
Immortalized, like dead presidents with they faces on rocks
Ebonic sleazy is the language for the game that we chop

Green leaves, canibus satives and Krystal
Fifty G's, making niggas bleed with pistols
Put it down 'cuz it ain't no time for fuckin' around
If a nigga wants to see six figures, enough, no less we platinum bound

Remember me, the man with the fifty cal in my hand
Coming more savage than Tarzan, hear what I'm saying?
Niggas picking up on my casket but I ain't sweatin' you haters
'Cause if it wasn't for bitch ass niggas, it wouldn't be real players

Represent to the fullest, at the same time dodging bullets
This mob shit ain't easy, nigga, but somebody got to do it
Immortalized, immortalized

I can't believe these j-j-jealous niggas don't wanna s-s-see me rise
Thuggin' in the caddy t-t-they got me t-t-thuggin' worldwide
Eternal mobbin' immortalized, immortalized, worldwide, worldwide

I can't believe these j-j-jealous niggas don't wanna s-s-see me rise
Thuggin' in the caddy t-t-they got me t-t-thuggin' worldwide
Eternal mobbin' immortalized, immortalized, worldwide, worldwide

Never die just multiply, thug niggas, immortalized
Energize like them batteries, caught up in the mob life
Niggas be talking that crazy shit, when they don't know
What the fuck they sayin', making money off rap music
When you was in elementary playin'

It's all real, shoot back at niggas, shooting to kill
Well, if it's fuck my life, it's fuck yo life, go to war with steel
If you niggas ain't feeling me, fuck yo clique and yo hood
It's Bossalini straight soldier, never went Hollywood

Always riding through the streets, hitting corners with felons
In a bucket or a benzo, when we blast it ain't no tellin'
It's west side till my life expire
Mob music till the wheels fall off, mothafucker, we all ride

Put the fire to the endo, sip on the Henn
'Cause you will never see a bad guy like this one again
Put it on you niggas, with no mask on
Straight smash, if it wasn't for rappin', I'd be jackin', gettin' my blast on

I can't believe these j-j-jealous niggas don't wanna s-s-see me rise
Thuggin' in the caddy t-t-they got me t-t-thuggin' worldwide
Eternal mobbin' immortalized, immortalized, worldwide, worldwide

I can't believe these j-j-jealous niggas don't wanna s-s-see me rise
Thuggin' in the caddy t-t-they got me t-t-thuggin' worldwide
Eternal mobbin' immortalized, immortalized, worldwide, worldwide

I can't believe these j-j-jealous niggas don't wanna s-s-see me rise
Thuggin' in the caddy t-t-they got me t-t-thuggin' worldwide
Eternal mobbin' immortalized, immortalized, worldwide, worldwide

I can't believe these j-j-jealous niggas don't wanna s-s-see me rise
Thuggin' in the caddy t-t-they got me t-t-thuggin' worldwide
Eternal mobbin' immortalized, immortalized, worldwide, worldwide

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81b70dc6c33e7ed610324e6e3f74f221

Apartment 223 - Lyrics - First Come First Served - Dr. Dooom

Title: Apartment 223
Album: First Come First Served
Artist: Dr. Dooom
Composer(s): Kurt Matlin, Keith Mayhew Thornton

Lyric:
Do not ring the bell, there is nobody home
The spirits around will haunt you, do not ring the bell
There is nobody home

Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry

Apartment 223 with body parts under my bed
Cut your abdomen out stab your fuckin leather coat
I chant while candles burn with robes on
You will learn
Christian no Hebrew on the balcony I see you
The devils coffin with corpse of course
In a mental state earthquake
Schizophrenic eatin' Campbell's soup
Takin a piss urinalysis test
I hope you wear a fuckin bullet proof vest
Just purchased the charter arms .38
Then you entered the confetti hell gate
On the pee floor bloody towels on sculptures
Machine gun suitcases, for all you niggaz with 2 faces
Mass murder, should have been in San Quentin
I'm doin' life to ten, when I come home you goddamn
Right I'm goin back again

Fuck the drinks on the table
While you sleep I take pictures of bullets in your navel
Open your face and pour milk in your forehead
Count the bodies, that's four dead
Look behind your fuckin' back
With the drill bit in your ass crack, extream pressure
Teach you a lesson
Fuck your confession of evil I march with black sheep on the Sunset streets
With hoods like Dracula
I walk in back of ya
Draggin you stomach parts to McDonalds
Drink Absolute bottles and bottles, while you tryin'
To fuck with the most exotic models

Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry

As you see the sign, beware of animals
A fuckin wild habitat
My living room is the wilderness with spots on
My carpet
Practicing my gun targets
Virtual reality is a rough end to your career
Set you on fire in a leather chair
Using charcoal to broil
Rap you jealous eyeballs in aluminum foil
Wearin' Masses(masks) on the telephone talkin to
Your black asses, with stocking caps I reach
I'm takin' your ass in a rented van to Venice Beach
In a cardboard box
Beatin' down your knees with a bag of Master locks
Police can't hear you with a dead body tied near you
It's hot, I 'm drinkin' soda with a tech-9 sprayin'
Your fan belt motor
Stop the bullshit, blast you hands of the hood
I pull quick
Video tape you in a puddle of blood with razors in
Your dick
With an extra clip I move your torso
Spit on you hips

With Mac-11 vice grips, surgery is major
With my sneakers stompin' on your pager
With my cup of Maxwell coffee, I like niggas whose
Bossy
Fuck the critics I press your back
Steam burn through your straight leg jeans
Soakin your bones out in the washing machine, with
Tide soap in the Laundromat you witness the killing
Your man got scared called Riverdale with a baseball
Hat, took a cab to Hawthorne
I know where he's goin'
You can't hide in an empty apartment with a mattress
And no protection, with a New York psycho
Bombshells in the Hollywood section
I'm pressin bells and bells and bells till you fuckin
Let me in

Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry

Follow you on tour like a haunted nightmare
Kickin' in your intestines like Rick Flair
Standin' by the Mobil gas station with a flamethrower
And a fuckin lawnmower, throwin big lighters at your fuel tank
I smash your face in the electric window, piss on
Your fenders
With my umbrella up like the Avengers
Plead guilty in court bring glocks through security
X-rays going for the worlds record
Shut the fuck up about music, I'm playin' checkers
With blood Polo shirts
Lookin' at the fireworks
On the dirty ass terrace
Bones in 'frigerators spring water and lettuce
Fuck it if your jealous
Gather crackers with flowers around 'em
Keep you eyes around 'em
Buck dishes, dial your ambulance I'm on a mission
Open up your shin guards in tinfoil
Warmin' my bread and Sauerkraut while your legs boil
Ketchup and Mustard, Fuck voodoo
Paint on my face lookin off my roof like Shaka Zulu
Surroundin you area for the biggest mass hysteria
Muhammad don't (he mad?)
While you motherfuckers eat pork I taste real humans
On my fork

Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry

Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry

Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry

Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry
Apartment 223, I'm very hungry

You do not see anything on the table? Well wait until I get the box

Play the MP3 online for free!

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