Lyrics:
got a vest on ya
Shoot at the neck on ya
Move like a professional
Don't need a messenger
Cause I'm gone be
The one catching you
And you can't get away
Like you don't know rulesss
After torture we go
Shoot them by two
We smoke till we high
Ojo till I die
You owe me my guy
We come in disguise
You can't
I got a lotta mf throwed how a nigga do it
I'm the truth can't come near the pure bullshit i ain't for it
John Madden make a play
Yea John Madden
(Chorus)
1, 2, 3
Who this be
5, 6, 7
This be the Messenger bringing ya'll to catchphrase heaven
(Verse 1)
I'm kryptonite to your ears, watch Super
you did silence your critics in the North
By hurling them into prison without benefit of charge or trial
Three
They say it wasn't Lincoln, John
I Just had a visit with Hermès the messenger
Cupid had to shoot both me and you ah
Your a Queen, I am your suitor
Wanna see my sense of humor
What's
basket. And
finally Oliver St John-Mollusc (G.C.), Harrow and the Guards, thought
by many to be this year's outstanding twit. Now they're moving up
that)
'Cause I'm so fucking off my nut, I might just lack
I don't shoot no wap, bear bottles get smashed
So let's have it (let's have it)
You don't
at all
(Man no send their rules at all)
I set my target, shoot my shot
(On God I go shoot my shot)
First of all
I don't do this sh** to f**k hoes
(I don't
trying to step on toes
I am coming for the whole leg
Please don't shoot the messenger
I'm speaking what the Word said
We all need to get low
John 3:30
Lest
Irgendwann spürt man nichts mehr - ein Level mit Säurekanister/
Ich vergewaltige deine Mutter - don't shoot the messenger/
Sowas bringt kein' Frohmut, nur
Lazer beam glock
what's a bird to a brother with a flock, wha?
They got some nerve
To even try and shit a turd
On John J, flap a nigga
you, I might shoot you, I just don't know.
And there's one point
I really want to prove.
If you vote for John Lee Hooker you know you gonna groove.
shots in this clip
When I shoot, a n**** don't miss
I done put a few 6 feet deep
A n**** must be John Wick
Why these n***** actin' so lit?
Man, these
what you gone do
You bitches run your mouth while I'm running hoes in the booth
I'd shoot a bitch down like you Lincoln, I'm John Booth
(I'd shoot
a hundred, don't lie for clout
They sent me your addy we right at your house
All of my niggas be ready to shoot
These niggas so loyal they might just camp
to take
I guess I'm gonna have to loot
I guess I'm gonna have to burn
I'm gonna have to shoot
And turn my own rags to riches
These bitches don't get why I'm
shoot my soul on out
To the rings of Saturn, what I was once told
Control my actions, they do not matter
Crack up when I'm in the slump
Crack eyes when
Feeling like John Wick
When I step on the strip
All black with a tint
Leave em off with a limp
Balling no gym
Never aim for the rim
When I shoot make it
Food in the stomach, gas in the van
Five o'clock shadow and Dracula tan
Pushing a fang on a passionate Stan
Don't trust a man with Immaculate hands
to incentivize justice
We don't need the knee on the neck making judgements
This blood-lust endeavor by shits who feign cleverness
Bitterness clarity's' all that
of nice
I'm the messenger sent by the force at the head of the light
But satan's ridin my back in the dead of the night
I be doin some crazy shit for
runs the show
When the stage is the G-H-E-T-T-O
Which is the one to blame when bullets blow
Either Peter, Jane, or John or Joe
But Joe can't shoot
runs the show
When the stage is the G-H-E-T-T-O
Which is the one to blame when bullets blow
Either Peter, Jane, or John or Joe
But Joe can't shoot
-8643.jpg/225px-John_Scofield_(cropped)-8643.jpg "John Scofield")
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