| I got some killers on the payroll, and they know
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| When it’s time to handle business, nigga, lay low
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| Money to double, still in the struggle, stuck to my hustle
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| We all fight back like maniacs with broke knuckles
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| It’s mo' trouble cause now we seein you niggas
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| Paint a vivid-ass picture, Boss spittin the scriptures
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| Nigga, I’m Bossi, Bosslin done turned to cash fiend
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| I straight pop codeine and drink gasoline
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| What what, I’m too sick for y’all
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| Tatted with dragons till I fall, givin dick to y’all
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| In this pitfall I’m on the grind for mine
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| My people choose a life of crime, pistol-pushin with nines
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| On the payroll, apply the pressure when we say so
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| My troops turn wacko, shoot through your backdo'
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| My life real, seen a man die slow
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| And I still can’t sleep, sweatin bullets fo' sho'
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| So don’t push me, Boss is one tough cookie
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| My team Regime, pumpin them shots out a hooptie
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| Who down to rock with the murder plot of a cop killer
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| Drop niggas, spillin they brains, rollin with hot niggas
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| Rot with a club to your face for tryin to rock with us
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| Straight up, get razorblade-cut for fuckin with us
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| Regime superiors, Max Ju spit rhymes, strip mine interior
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| Rippin your shit imperial, kill niggas' material
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| My whole crew ain’t fearin ya, Mad Max the High Priest
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| I got some real killer muthafuckas behind me
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| And I be obviously on top of things
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| With the Regime I’m too clean, make it a murder scene
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| Glocks and murder beam, niggas ain’t never heard of me
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| Burnin em to the third degree, leavin niggas in the infirmary
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| Wait for recoupin, still choosin your brain, stupid
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| The Dragon recruited real niggas for thug music
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| So peep game and next time you speak my name
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| Be prepared for incoming from the heat of the flame
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| Regime
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| Regime Killer number one, I’m back up in this bitch with Yukmeez
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| On the payroll so I spray those foes, make you get on your knees
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| For the pesos Tech Ninna ??? |
| great holes with these
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| You stay yellin you’se a merely killer for the cheese, nigga please
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| Awfully sick, he tryin to fuck, so off with his dick
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| Can’t floss and he blitzed, molotow in his lips
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| Tossin his dick in a box of chocolates and walk in his ship
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| Talk to his bitch and whisper (he loved you) softer to kiss
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| (He bows down) You get ??? |
| N9ne ???
|
| (We wild now) You wanna rewind mine, I’m prime time
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| Qwest Records tryin to hold a nigga back
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| So I ??? |
| Saafir and tellin me ??? |
| get his shit back
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| Off with their heads, let them hang high
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| Caught in their beds, let it ??? |
| die
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| Tech Neen, I’m a fiend for strings by Mike Dean
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| For the green I damage spleens, then I scream «Regime!»
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| Let’s take a out-of-town trip with a thousand crips
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| With a thousand A.K.'s and a thousand clips
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| No 50 Cent can come to Cali and rob nobody
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| Cause gees catch and send his ass back a cold body
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| Young guns’ll lay ya down regardless who you are
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| Shit, we make a livin out of extortin you stars
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| Robbin you for your jewelry, snatchin you out your cars
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| Poverty’s a plague, I rob before I beg
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| But you don’t expect me to score, times are hard
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| You’re broke but you’re scared to steal and break a law
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| You need not worry 'bout me, I live it raw
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| A hustler with a cause, flippin paper, gotta ball
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| I had to crawl before I walked but now I’m standin tall on em
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| Lookin down on em, 'bout to drop my balls on em
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| It’s time for platinum minin, military grindin
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| Right when these suckers ??? |
| start declinin
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| Yuk threw me on part 2
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| Regime Brick City niggas mobbin when we come through
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| Nigga, the Governor got it sowed up, spots get blowed up
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| Funk Doc, Diesel Don, yo, them niggas even showed up
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| As I rolled up, the nine Glock get load up
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| For the hold-up, the new hundreds we fold up
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| Confiscate drugs, niggas' mouths get taped up
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| Kids get draped up and bitch up-slapped the make up
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| Then I take up all clothes, jewels and paper
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| You got 'cash money', but you don’t wanna run the safe, ha?
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| Nigga, don’t play dumb, I’m steady gettin money from those that hold up
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| Used to drink weed tea, now my shit robust
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| Now hold up, car patrolled up
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| It was 12 Outsidaz in a two-door Toyota
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| We splatter brains over crack cocaine |
| In the court we still came to pay Judge Mills Lane
|
| Nigga, it’s not a question
|
| My uzi weighs a ton, 'll have you undressin
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| Like you was strippin down on Western
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| Killers on the payroll, pockets stay swoll
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| Hearts stay cold, that’s why we’s on payroll
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| Regime Life, niggas
|
| Thug rituals
|
| Regime Life
|
| Thug Lord
|
| Regime Life, nigga
|
| Now where them toy soldiers at?
|
| There they go, right chea
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| Get them bitches, kill them niggas, there they go, watch it
|
| Where them toy soldiers at? |
| There they go, right chea
|
| Keep them bitches, kill them niggas, there they go, watch it
|
| Get that bitin-ass rapper, wanna-be actor
|
| Fake non-playin Basketball nigga that got dropped from the Raptors
|
| I spit in your face and slap ya, boy
|
| With a .38 kidnap ya, boy
|
| Ductape and wrap ya, boy
|
| ??? |
| and flash ya, boy
|
| Lascerate and trash ya, boy
|
| Mash ya, boy, I hate Master P like Pastor Troy
|
| Shame on that nigga for tryin to steal a name from a nigga
|
| Ice Cream Man put flames to a nigga
|
| I figured by now that nigga done been broke off some scrilla for stealin that
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| shit
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| But until then I’m killin that bitch
|
| All you got is Snoop Dogg and Mystikal in your click
|
| And all them other muthafuckas are like Mystikal-in your click
|
| You’re still in this shit, «Fuck Yuk, I ain’t feelin his shit'
|
| But fuck you too, you fell off and I’m still in this bitch
|
| Willing to rip the fuckin head off a villain that’s sick
|
| My raps burn like ghonorrhea, need penicillin to spit
|
| The Thug Lord, Ayatollah, fire the flame
|
| Rappers tired in the game, make em retire again
|
| Fuck gold, fuck platinum, nigga, I did that shit
|
| In '95 and '96, so what you did ain’t shit
|
| Niggas go triple platinum, nigga, do some amazin shit
|
| Some eyebrow-risin shit and quit hatin, ya bitch
|
| How the fuck you a mack when you beat down hoes?
|
| At videos give a bad-ass bitch a bloody nose
|
| Nigga, ??? |
| put you on in '84
|
| You was a crackhead in dirty-ass clothes with dopefiend flows
|
| Broke muthafucka out livin on skid row
|
| Nigga, you from L.A., you ain’t even from the Big O
|
| This year them bitch-ass niggas gon' get theirs
|
| You swingin from my balls, why you down there smell my dick hairs
|
| Ya bitch
|
| And Dru Down, the real Mack of the Year, ya bitch-ass nigga
|
| Longevity that, huh
|
| Bitch
|
| Regime Life, nigga
|
| Ya bitch! |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Killers On The Payroll 2001, artist - Yukmouth. Album song 18k - The Golden Era: Disc 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп