a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

letra de homicide hill - fes taylor

[fes taylor:]
killa mac, what up?
some n-gg-z crook back on the block, wolves clappin’ them shots
snitch n-gg-z rat to the cops, my cash crops
make money grow from the trees, i blow on the d’s
try to lay officer brown down, kase rest in peace (alright)
my n-gg-z stressed in the streets, wrestle with beasts
nah, i don’t talk sh-t, son, it’s special to speak
talk to him ‘fore i put chalk to him
preacher dab holy water on his head, put a cross to him
lord forgive him cause we all sinners
while we livin’ like slaves, eatin’ pork dinners
i stick a fork in ya, yea, see if he done
hard for him to breathe through his lung
guns go boom like we beatin’ the drums, n-gg-
where i’m from, son, we eat in the slums, n-gg-
walk in my shoes, please, you at the bottom like gum, n-gg-
trigger ‘pon c-ck, this ain’t a robbery, n-gg-
most of you could keep ya charm and ya watch

[chorus: fes taylor]
it’s a homicide, it ain’t over ’til we ride
on these b-tch–ss n-gg-z, you seen me glide, right?
stay low, aim straight, all i got is my pride
yellin’ out “f-ck that, somebody gotta die”

[fes taylor:]
it’s like, death to anybody who fronted on me, you want it homey?
i play the corners broley, won’t let the lord control me
i run up in sony, smack a few a&r’s
cause life is a gamble, i’m just playin’ my cards
n-gg-z better pray to god, that i don’t spray ya squad
i’ll song writer, murder mc’s, my favorite job
the streets’ll say he’s hard
hot 97’ll say he ain’t commercial enough so they ain’t playin’ our’s
f-ck it, i say some bars that’ll make you quit ya day job
and f-ck with the block, i’m tryin’ to cook this cake large
‘fore the judge say “officer, take charge”
that’s why we don’t cut n-gg-z, leavin’ their face scarred
i lay n-gg-z, buck n-gg-z, all in ya face, god
screamin’ out “f-ck n-gg-z” all in ya face, god
they listen to the way he spit “d-mn, son, you murder it”
this is what i gotta do, the staten island’s heard of it

[chorus]

[fes taylor:]
black down, pull my hat down, i pull a gat now
that’s when he cracked a smile, held up a child
my neighborhood’s cracked out, son, some i’m handin’ back south
so i took the cash route, did what you asked ’bout
just put the m-a-s-h out, kinda like my last bout
crashed mouth, son you ain’t a man, you a half mouse
rat–ss n-gg-, get snake, clear the gr-ss out
still throwin’ stones, know you livin’ in a gl-ss house (alright)
n-gg-z puttin’ trash out, wonder why we lash out?
seen the size of the barrel and d-mn near p-ssed out
teachers tell ’em cl-ss out, i’m a school of hard knocks graduate
with hammers like we rolled up in battleships
nah, this ain’t a battle, b-tch
any type of embarr-ssment, resort to the old school avenue sticks
i’m talkin’ milk boxes, not cereal, n-gg-
don’t make it in rap, i’d be a hip hop serial killa

[chorus]

[outro: fes taylor]
yo, yo, yo, that’s my mothaf-ckin’ word, b
yo, yo, this that get fresh sh-t right here, b
y’all n-gg-z think, you see my n-gg-z on some f-ckin’
all actuality fly sh-t, right?
we pretty happy
don’t got the f-ckin’ hammers and sh-t
i ain’t mad, it’s pretty, n-gg-
f-ck y’all n-gg-z think, man?

- fes taylor

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS