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letra de graveyard shift - bukshot

[intro: bukshot]
the graveyard shift, louisville and jay city together on this b-tch. bukshot, n-do, o.d., gangsta blac, trig, big shawn, with them 812 soulja’z, ruff side, redrum, we taking this sh-t over

[verse 1: bukshot]
bukshot the player hater, executer so f-ck yo crew
down with them thugs up across the bridge where the area code is 8-1-2
straight up anybody k!ller, strapping the chopper that goes bang
making sure outside is hangin’, it’s a midwest thing
so you best done give respect up in this city i call mine
’cause there won’t be no hesitation to put hot lead where the sun don’t shine
a frown up on my mug, prepare to l!ck a chaser from a chipe
’cause i’m the one who blew 1-8-7 in yo pager
[verse 2: ???]
tonight is midnight, dressed in all black
me and buk and my cousin mobbin’ macklemore busting caps out the lac
throughout the midwest, spitting on the concrete showing (f-ck you n-gga) no respect
after dumping on yo set, hit 75 west, through the bridge
throw the guns over the rail, and to 812
both of the bodies come up stained and the detector i smell
ain’t this something to creep to? me and bukshot blasting
no questions asking (kablow), your life is not lasting

[verse 3: n-do]
now it’s time to get wicked with bukshot, n-do, n-o-t
coming straight to you like psycho, one psycho, two psycho, three
it’s time i bleed up a storm, make it rain till you strain
shooting caine up your veins till it’s busting out your brain
it’s a game that i likes to play, i’ll torture, full shots in a minute
got dead bodies in my cell like it’s a motherf-cking clinic
it’s the scene that i’m in, but it’s f-cked so i continue
eating gushers, blood for sauce while i’m dipping in yo fingers

[verse 4: ???]
got my mossberg letting off buckshots
f-ck yo glocks, we mobbing in droptops
serving on the west end blocks, blazing big weed
keyed off the endoja
sixes in the chamber, shot in the face so no one names ya
the california park hood where we smoked, plus we locced past midnight
blunts in the wind like airmike
they’re jealous, got my finger on the trigger while these n-ggas work the late shift i’m gon’ be the grave digger
[verse 5: ???]
i come through with two thangs smoking, leaving yo chest wide open from the smoke
hitting yo set, leaving yo chest wet, boy this g sh-t ain’t no joke
i mob on triple golds and folds
desert eagle c-cked and ready to unload
i fold yo whole clique quick
n-gga in the berg that’s how it goes
from liveleak caught where the g n-ggas blast
with the mac, line these then i crack yo masks
i turn these streets into a bloodbath
they find you n-ggas ripped in half
busting with my n-gga bukshot in that 6-4 on three shoes
i bust that sh-t that’ll rip yo heart out n-gga and death has just chose you

[verse 6: ???]
creeping up out of the cut
with a nine, pocket full of stone
8-1-2 jay city boys roam
f-ck around get yo head blown off
by the f-cking sawed off (boom boom)
pumping, dumping sh-lls up in yo chest
motherf-cker straight coming for the midwest
desert nugs get f-cked up, ripping up all yo bl–dy guts
trying to get that pad of cash
straight put you on yo ass
grab the freddy mask, blast like i told y’all down, i don’t f-ck a task
b-tches keep snitching but i keep hitting that eleven to seven shift sh-t, a player all about his grit b-tch
[verse 7: ???]
(what you about boy? you got that money?)
i be gone when the hot ones blow
watch that, now b-tch l!ck a brick
you’ll self-impale for competition as i rip through your set and take yo back out with these n-ggas from the ville
n-ggas will k!ll just for the f-ck of it
dump slugs into yo grill, keep sh-t real, jump in the bucket b-tch
till they itching and f-cking lie (yeah)
tonight’ll be the night you die
leave that n-gga safe but the 8-1-deuce, yeah n-gga we keep it tight
what that set be like? you brag or not n-gga i’ll bring a gun
leaving bodies numb from the .45 tommy gun

[verse 8: bake]
here we are, four-door cars, them players done crossed the river
from indiana, 8-1-2, now watch how we deliver
ambitions for riding, buckshots from all the mileage
time to take the life from those who chose (haha) just all for static
never been no punk (never been no punk), no mini pump
just sh-t in yo f-cking chest
homicide them gypsies plus i rank amongst the very best
that n-gga bake (that n-gga bake)
defamed here, 1-86
and much demolition ripping quick, bring fools down to boots

[verse 9: ???]
round up and n-ggas i hope they say they last
praying sick for the graveyard shift player
no fearing for my hair sh-t, so lay it down
face-to-face with face of death, take a sh-t
illegal business bust and shooting sh-t down
flying through the city, no f-cking pity for you hoes
ain’t no love for you b-tches, for them murder shooters spitting, bullet hoes (bullet holes)
of bullet hoes (bullet holes), of bullet holes, of bullet holes (n-gga, n-gga, n-gga)

[verse 10: short capone]
coming straight out of eight where you hustle to keep that paper proper
pack a glock on yo person, don’t hesitate to pop ’em
watching my back for coppers, they scoping and i can’t seem to shake ’em
every time i step on the block i.s.p. trying to chase me
if they be hulking and falling tryna interfere with this cheddar cheese
rolling, but the fools don’t have a clue who’s holding the quarter keys
preaching the shadows after hours, n-gga find me deep in the grind
it’s a drop, no doubt, short capone i gots to get mine

[verse 11: ???]
now let’s k!ll it from the back on the real though
packing my steel for the k!ll
can you feel when i grab yo sh-t
i’m a dealer, real i got appeal
all about my skrillers, don’t take no bullsh-t from marksmen
just pop a slug in yo ass when i blast, and i’ll catch y’all quick in the dark
leaving sparks in your hood, it ain’t good, i be serving you heat
f-ck the police, serving heat for the gs, put no fear in me
backing me, it’s 812 soulja’z gone off that doja (812, 812)
mutter from, don’t roll us, on this graveyard shift

[verse 12: ???]
buckshot till the day i fall, watch me and n-ggas ball (watch us ball n-gga)
ain’t no time for stalling, n-ggas quick to make that murder call
i’m looking at a black he-rs- filled with death and misery
if five n-ggas show me love then twenty wanna k!ll me
fill me with caps, bust back, i ain’t no punk n-gga
don’t be ducking behind yo car, i’m shooting straight through yo trunk (shooting straight through yo mu’f-cking trunk)
and1’s no fun, just a lot of yellow tape
my addicts dig, creep to spit, p-ssy n-ggas get wrecked

[verse 13: ???]
give it to me n-gga then be chopping to ride
reside in that bl–dy i, ind-i-a-n, they see the bl–dy k!ller where it’s do or die
don’t sleep on that ville, we are dope dealers and k!llers
my n-ggas come through with that realer, with triggers and heaters that’s big
tri-county air-e-d
my interest-ings like stephen king
it’s a quarter to three, let’s bury young breathing on these ds in the trees
i’ll run yo celly when that job’s complete
locc to the brain riding shotgun with that reaper in the front seat

[verse 14: ???]
representing the season of the sickness, k!lling up snitches, leaving no witness
murder roughly, fled, got away clean with this
showing no love to them n-gga that show no love back
’cause you wasn’t the n-gga that help a n-gga move them packs
i keep on mobbin’ lodging, but it’s about to change
i’m the one to blame when you feel that pain, so let it rain
sending hot ones to your brain and watching my studs lift
after twelve o’clock working that motherf-cking graveyard shift

[verse 15: ???]
it’s that one motherf-cker to the left, never skipping
got the tea right by my eye, f-ck yo set ’cause i’m tripping
always flaming and doing dirt
you can never win
five faces in my hand from the streets, unleashing it
k!ll k!ll, f-ck yo chill ’cause i bangs with the red
k!ll k!ll, keep it real, leave a slug up in yo head
rolling over your set, king and i’m taking his crown
i throws it down (down), i throws it down, i throws it down

[verse 16: ???]
i keeps my head up, never let up (never)
wet up any n-gga talking sh-t (talk sh-t)
wanna cross my partners, my path, you must have a death wish b-tch (n-ggas have a death wish)
busting on that graveyard shift, motherf-ckers acting scheiße
but our bars are none, jay city n-ggas live (812) and die by they chife
every day all day sin in the crib, bring it down in the zones
then as soon as twizzos come (whoop whoop)
scatter like roaches when the light’s on
and then we hold up, wait about a minute
let them in, just leave, and we right back to business

[verse 17: bukshot]
i’m riding dirty, fiends are clucking
rollers are creeping, so i’m ducking
back to the cabin, neighbors are looking in my window to see what i’m cooking, cooking
i be like “dee, these feds are watching me”
a.t.f. is on the prowl trying to get them my recipe
so i’m busting out this back door, got my gun in my hand
this midwest destroyer’s about to make a stand
no bulletproof vest, just this tattoo on my chest
mom and dad i’m coming to see ya if they lay me down to rest
i see you’re closing in, they ready to peel my cap
but it’s the graveyard shift (you b-tches) welcome to my trap
y’all been praying for my downfall but the prey is on you
sixteen k!llers on this song, your nightmares have come true
you d-ck-suckers got me started, lets finish the game
and if i fall tonight (tonight) remember my name and let all my 8 soulja’z ride for me
bury me in all red and say i died a g

- bukshot

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