Lyrics:
murder
My Nigga my residence evil
Written by DeAngelo Samuel
That's my shooter, I recruited him
Glock-23, got two of them (808 Mafia)
Yeah, this that murder music
That's my shooter, I recruited him
Glock-23,
with these
Sixteen's is much more than a rap
This is pure facts
You see what's really good when
You catch him by himself
Dolly, I leave a fool holy like
borough
Kidnap ya, tie ya down, drug ya, kiss the girls
Klack automatics no matter the pressure the static, klack
I blow you by two miles, cut my licence
bills
And fake ass fives that they don't even drive
Hip hop is war and only strong MCs will survive
( 2x )
[ Holocaust ]
Half dead
Hey, young world
M-murder, fake man
Y'all know the beef from the hood, it'll never
Tell 'em DJ turn it up, turn-turn-turn it up
The bitches,
Take a trip 2 cali
From the 012 can i take a trip 2 Cali
I call these niggas bitches cos they always actin petty
Look at all these blessings
Man
the night before New Year's, and all through the fuckin' projects
Not a handgun was silent, not even a Tec
Outside as I'm stuck, by enemies who put fear
car
Blowing horns like Miles Davis
At the pearly gate, God let me in
Give me a room by Aaliyah with ESPN
I know I got more sins than two lesbians
Been
not top ten, more like top three
I am not two 'cause nobody could top me
Get the pussy wet like Jodeci, you know it's me
I can't seem to put my
my thoughts and my actions
And the things that I've said
Sometimes by mistake and sometimes on purpose, Amen
Got my mind on this murder, Impala's
woo, woo, uh
Tell me you gon' ride for me (skrrt, skrrt, skrrt, ride)
Tell me you gon' die for me (you gon' die)
Tell me you gon' die by what you
by assumption
Presumption of guilt, malfunction of what we built
Instructed function of corruption led to blood spilt
Justified by a warrant, murder
bitches, tall and they slim
They know I'm [?] but see I know it's him
Never testify, I seen it in his eye
Attempted murder on his life in that 360, ah
red Rum! (x4)
[Project Pat]
A .44 bullet shell took my niggas life
Triggers pulled by some young niggas on that white
He used to fuck with them boys
Murder motherfuckers lyrically, and I'm not gon' cry
Me - a born leader never leave the block without my heater
Two big pits, I call them my bitch nigga
He bragging bout murder
That's is ma cuz
That nigga living a lie
That's ma blood
He think he living alright
After smoking 2 blunts
He outta his
And get the fuck back on this murder case
For chill this shit is cool to rap about but see to me it ain't no fun when it's real
Them cops can't roll
patterns get you twisted sideways
And I'm the head honcho, sport golden tonsils
Inventing new styles all the time like pronto
Four by four, runnin' over
a courtesy (with a courtesy)
Red flag if you ain't ever heard of me (ever heard of me)
I'm the one posted in the hood, where the murder be (where the murder
other New York rappers
Jay-Z of Hawaiian Soapy fame, Big Little whatever
And several other corny sounding motherf***ers
are understandably shaken up by
tucked Tony
Two bangin' cases on my momma I'ma keep it on me
Gotta watch my back for these snakes 'cause the streets home
I'ma leave 'em in the back, by
the Range, empty out the ashtray
A glass of 'Ze make a man Cassius Clay
Red dot plots, murder schemes, thirty-two shotguns
Regulate with my dunn's, 17 rocks
Helplessly held by the weeds, we are grown,
I tried talking sense to you, leave it alone;
I give in to the weight of the kick,
So weary of waiting
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