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letra de the flesh—feed me - thee undatakerz

feed me.. feed me..

[verse one: thee undatakerz]
got bl–dy bodies all around me, i’m chewin out on somebody’s flesh
i love the smell of rotten corpse like maggots diggin all through your chest
a gravedigger, tomb raider, quick to get in yo’ spot and make a mess
rip the head off your body, sip the blood straight out yo’ neck
black nosferatu walkin the streets feelin the city not as a threat
look at the public and that, panicked manic man straight on yo’ set
black mask, long machete and the blade is covered with blood
dirty suit, guerilla boots, and the whole body’s still covered in mud
walk the cemetery at night, 12 midnight with a shovel
speakin to the spirits talkin to me, thinkin is that god or is it the devil?

[chorus]
feed me, i’m hungry, i’ma chew on your face
feed me, i’m hungry, i’ma chew on your flesh
feed me, i’m hungry, i’ma chew on your face
feed me, i’m hungry, i’ma dig in yo’ chest

[verse two: m-balmer]
y’all n-ggas just be k!llin me
don’t like my style, just don’t deal with me
y’all n-ggas just be k!llin me
even worser than them b-tches that envy me
y’all n-ggas done done all that there talkin, now you bleedin
please believe it.. believe it
the blood streamin from your vein, two and two, the m-balmer
i’m true to you, you know i got you boo! (boo)
creep through the streets of los skandelous
business really boomin up and down the list
n-ggas can’t handle it
directin funerals of nothin but love
what about it n-gga? criminals and drug dealin {?}
or that b-tch n-gga strictly bout his skrilla
or f-cked with me and i peeled yo’ cap n-gga
always expectin the unexpected
undatakerz, they detect it
don’t be trippin off me… just need to sweat it
gravediggers, strictly fo’ they cheddar
you said it’s eerie, it’s dreary, you weary
but none of mines is leary, y’all n-ggas can’t feel me

[chorus]

[verse three: reverand tom – kool keith]
there’s more red beans in the back
who cares who know who in the spotlight
i’d rather listen to beelow comin tthrough new orleans with project pat
with skull duggery, hollow tip, and tre-8
new york should be lovin me, word and i’m fatal
i’m comin out of nowhere
you see me comin out the under, the master of distribution
out of nowhere like kane & abel, in magazines like big bear
i move units over there, like pistol and mac dre
i cuts up and put it out anyway
y’all work for the company and release date
when i send all masters to city hall in bayside it’s gon’ be too late
300,000 rappers sittin out on milk crates
skinny pimp and three 6, y’all hit them big l!cks
lil’ jon and the eastside boyz
rumble speaker down south with noise, make money mayne
no time for f.o. and g.i. joe
commercial b00bs in belvedere videos
fake chairs and toys, incense on the corner, your rap get destroyed
baton rouge, you should call me mr. scrooge
and when girls y’all ridin around with trans-xuals and dudes
comin to rich men drinkin booze
with gators on, fly and shine they shoes
i gotta get gas, pick up the girls, change clothes
drop frank off and hank off

[chorus]

- thee undatakerz

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