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letra de cowbell demon - bloody ruckus

[intro: bl–dy ruckus]
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga

[verse 1: bl–dy ruckus]
crip-crips in sight, be precise
blood, he got the target with the pitbull bite
bringing out the gang, i can’t afford to tape another murder
lookin’ at my gun then pop a bullet .44, we’re k!lling rivals
stomp another opp like we’re primals
spinning out the bullet, hit the face likе nitro
never saw god, i prevеnt you from reading your final chapter of the journey to death row
burn up the cadaver, having love with anacondas
bodybagging every single ghetto chupacabra
i make it rain, sangre del nada
run a motherf-cker over with an impala
drop a baby mama with a stone cold stutter
you be lackin’ heart, you ain’t no gutter
break down a b-tch with a hit from the clip
i’m equipped with the pole ’cause i came from the gutter
motherf-cker
[chorus: bl–dy ruckus]
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga

[verse 2: bl–dy ruckus]
motherf-ck the devil and you’re f-cking with the devil
try the .38 and buck all motherf-ckers and a bunch ’em barbecued
i would’ve picked off many more but they ain’t want the millimeter
and if peter never thought about the virgin mary, going out to get her
would have thought i’m better faded, i’m in no position
pop the bullets over, for the dawg you better run and get your pack up to the post
it gon’ be over, then i murder everybody moving, look up at a johnny gotti
smokin’ magazines, that b-tch f-cked up, them hoes in garbage bags
i wish for you to step inside my slaughterhouse and see the gates
where you will meet your fate
today’s the day that i will beat the case
no trace of evidence to keep me isolated in a cage
pop another clip off with the gun of a deadite
that feel like creeping in the night with no headlights
running with the semi-automatic and i’m bucking when i’m busting on these b-tches on sight
no street fights, take out with a shot, you’re it, not me
bodybag a goofy like an innocent or creep
wake up in the gutter, gutter living but i’ll never find a f-cking burner, then i put your face upon a tee
i am the dark and the devil’s a pitbull
that keep f-cking heads like a b-tch and her life
i do not give a single f-ck about you ho
but the fact that you might get yo ass shot tonight
with yo head in a vice for all to see
chop a body up and leave her torso in the street
p-ssy b-tch hate, i downed another victim like your f-cking mama, deceased on my d
[outro: bl–dy ruckus]
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga
tripping wi-wi-with a motherf-cking glock ready to pop
on a punk a-a-ass n-gga, chrome pla-la-ay-ass n-gga

- bloody ruckus

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