Tucked the cannon in the lo fabric
Slick Rick grills, 24 gold karats
The Kimber K6s is so savage
It blew his brains all over the ghost mattress
The cartier vintage like ghost rabbits
Man sent to Dennis Wilson crib, so lavish
We went up in his face with a stone hatchet
Southpaw, fight with the left like old fascists
Throw shots from close angles
Have his body laid out like a snow angel
Apply pressure till they both strangled
Arms dealer sell biscuits like Bojangles
Empty clips, give 'em my all
Small fry, I got choppers that are bigger than y'all
No small talk money, just the jux and be gone
I got shooters waiting for you if you look at me wrong
Muerte
12 gauges were perfect for these kind of jobs,
Cause they were intimidating.
They were big, you know, rather than just a handgun
We'd kick down these doors and,
Put the gun to their head and I'm just like: Look,
If you don't give me my money... Then I'm gonna hurt you.
A lot of times I didn't even need the money.
I just did it because,
It just gave me this fucking euphoric feeling and I was addicted
Satan laughs as you eternally rot
Young Baloff with the burgundy snot
You get surgically shot
Drive-by you in a cloud of that purpley pot
Can you see with your Eyes Wide Shut? Certainly not
And we all gon' die some day, slowly we rot
Shooters might go get your funeral shot, ahk
So choose wise who you keep within the circle of trust
Tucked the swammy in the gut
Tommy, hand me the blunt
Speed forth like Z. York in the green orb
Swing swords, careen towards enemy hordes
Tear the face off my enemy's corpse
Mob through heavenly armed
The cause with these heavy metal songs and bars
Standing on a cliff harnessing the source of the Ark
Past the banana clip architects tortured in war
Eye-patches on crisis actors
Unrecognizable accents on ISIS captains
Practice survival tactics
Cut around your face. Rip your scalp, let it hang down.
Rip your face off. And they put a mirror, in front of you,
So you can get a real good look at
Yourself... Then cut your dick and your balls off
Medina Arafat, return to the martyr's dream
My squad gleams like October in the arts of fiends
Cause Tuddy cooked a whole corpse until the barren clean
Magazine melt your face away, it's guaranteed
Roy DeMeo was the butcher from Flatlands
Back of the garbage truck, we kill for pellets like Pac-Man
Elegant Lou Duva body-parts in the cooler
Got shooters up in the crib smell like gauze and hot tuna
Diadoras, the fat tongues and the yeshiva clapping
Break bread, black Rabbi with the heater action
Def Leppard, pyromania, I torch and go
Rifle nut 40 aught, khakis and baby scorpio
Young friend it's Gore mortuary drape
Called Paz so we burn the body raw till it was Frosted Flakes
Nikki Sixx, the black corvette from Uncensored
Stomp your head out rock corpse paint
Like Jon from Dissection
One of my first acts will be (sniff) to get all of the drug lords
(Sniff) all of the bad ones, we have some bad,
Bad people (sniff) in this country that have to go out.
(Sniff) We're going to get them out,
We're going to (sniff) secure the border (sniff) and once the border
Is secure, at a later date (sniff) we'll make a determination as to
The rest. (sniff) But we have some bad (sniff) hombres
(Sniff) here and we are going to get 'em out. (grunts and snorts)