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letra de irate - 187 collective

[verse 1: 99 zed, saliva grey]
a strap on my jeans, a black rag in the backseat
we whippin it down the street
saliva go and roll another piece

buckin like a b-tch i wanna do it for the fame
motherf-cker see me ain’t got sh-t to f-cking say

scale it back
grab the strap i’m running in that b-tch
another motherf-cker talking sweet i’m finna run his sh-t

run that sh-t
light the blunt
i pulled out my double cup
7 grey, can’t be stopped
we about to double up

he had loose lips
i cracked his skull and threw him in a grave
he wasn’t 6 feet, shallow ones for those who pray

prayin on your knees
[?] you’ll survive
[?] o murderous, he k!llin for the [?]
your god doesn’t exist, when you die there will be nothing b-tch
nothing lasts forever your life is impermanent

waste your f-cking life away
wanna be like shallow grey
grab the shovel, watch you dig
then cover up yo motherf-cking face

grab the sawed off
rip his f-cking face off
warpaint, get the f-cking hatchet like [?]
and my radar hates so imma spray the f-cking k uh
[?]
i might go insane b-tch

yeah, ‘liva coming from the motherf-cking [?] boy
what? is you talking bout me?
i do not exist, boy
got me an army we the 187 k!lljoys
[?] motherf-cker wit the mask, cuz i’m ill, boy

[verse 2: odiato]
we count more stripes than gucci
i fell em with that uzi
we fade em like he boosie
don’t touch me [?]
chopper [?]
putin holes right through yo 2 seat
i ate up her coochie made her yell and sh-t like luigi
i feel like dr. dre i’m blowing chronic with my dawgs
i run that sh-t like sonic, donkey kong we smoking logs
she say call me sl-t, i’m like baby yeah of course
you want me for my bread, i just want intercourse
grab my .40 glock
[?]
i play with the rock
[?] that’s my dawg
like i’m blaze i keep a rod
[?]
run it up, jack his son i feel like [?]
smoking on the pressure and i’m wit my foreign shooter
[?]
gunshots in the morning wake em up like roosters
drive by hit yo ankles like a scooter
all these f-cking racks, b-tch i should work at hooters
all these f-cking rags, tell they homes pray to buddha
[?] and he walk out with the ruger
test the god, make em freeze, i feel like medusa
[verse 3: badkidmizu]
slidin right in my city cuz i’m in that mood
99 pass me that chop- no, the tool
cuz when i get that sh-t i leave his ass screwed
she said that i’m nervous but [?]
[?]
[?]
lock down, lock down, like code blue
[?] like it just got the flu
my aim is impeccable
you n-ggas are b-tches you don’t got no t-st-cl-s
all of you n-ggas you soft
not talkin bout octopus tentacle
i spin yo block [?]
shoot, him and him, saliva criminal
he said he gon shoot me but that sh-t [?]
the chop got a drum and a scope as additionals

- 187 collective

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