Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Murder Spree Ft. U-God, Masta Killa, Inspectah Deck and Killa Sin, artist - Ghostface Killah. Album song Twelve Reasons to Die "The Brown Tape", in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 22.07.2013
Record label: Soul Temple Entertainment
Song language: English
Murder Spree Ft. U-God, Masta Killa, Inspectah Deck and Killa Sin |
Yo, there’s a dozen ways to die, six million ways to do it |
Let’s go through it, my mind flow like fluid |
Torture, chop your legs off, thrown off the boat |
Guillotine, nigga, one chop to the throat |
Suffocation, saran wrapping your face |
Buried alive, throw a few nails in the case |
Manslaughter, eight degrees of separation |
Leave your body chopped up in a piece, that’s mutilation |
Six million ways to die, cyanide in your drink |
Catch a Cuban necktie for your mink |
Domo style, cut up and stuffed in the fridge |
And maybe washed up and show around thunder the bridge |
Hit him with the whip, drag him half a block |
Machete or the sock full of padlocks |
Chainsaw, switch your medication |
Stomp a nigga out til he one with the pavement |
Torture, he’s gruely peaking at the meeting |
Suspicions of him being a rat, even worse than cheating |
I’m cold reaking of ice picks, scratch and sticks and closed fists |
Brassknuckle still toe kicks |
Crack ribs, punch your lungs, hard weaving |
He’s gasping and wheezing for air, his breath he can’t catch |
He clinches the shirt on his chest |
In a dying effort to reveal his last will before he was killed |
First thing first, I chopped their head to their fingertips |
Butcher knife your torso, chop off your ligaments |
Make sure it’s legitimate, conceal all my fingerprints |
Chop, chop your body up quick then get rid of it |
A hole in the desert, body bag, just just polluted it |
Your miss was a snitch too? |
Shotgun killed the bitch |
Leave you in the wilderness, suffocated and scarred up |
Your brother want more too, blow his fucking car up |
Remember homocide city, murder mystery efficiently |
Delete your fucking history broke bone, missing teeth |
Throw bones memory, brings on the triple beam |
All topped and chopped up, my luck is a Mr Clean |
Clorax and vicious steam sterilized the whole scene |
Photograph your death so I can spread it to your whole team |
I won’t leave a trace of evidence for the case |
It’s sinister to finish it, hid with the man with no face |
Red wine and pink pill |
Unknowingly that this would be his last meal |
Cut the voice, made the field, six inch stiletto heel |
Kept his refills filled |
Til he like s kept him still for the real deal |
Hitman from Brooklyn, Tommy gun specialist |
sipped cavasier at the bar then waited till she lit a cigar |
Then sprayed |
Them shatter wine glass he layed, he never saw it coming |
Yo, murder one, bullets went fast through the flesh |
I cocked the sawed off shotty, put a hole in your chest |
Blow your lungs out, I’ve seen you been smoking for years |
You got no heart, I’ll hunt you down like Cape Fear |
Push your brains out the back of your head, blow off your hands |
Leave your body in a dumpster, head in the trashcan |
Cell catchin scene look clean as a whistle |
Ghost carved to your skin tissue til your bone grizzle |