| Shadow pocket hit the 718, like 510 and fill in your tape
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| Time to rap hella great, drives to keep Sway and Tek away
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| Or we all start to hallucinate, I rap long enough to dig a whole
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| In your crates, copping big button drugs, you got a dub and shake
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| Thems the breaks, dodge city got my go-go dub plate
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| Niggas like fuck Billy, he still owe me from '98
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| Oh man you fitting to menestrate, take this roach
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| Now we straight, youngin' you know mom still eying my cape
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| I just known rocket’ll late, up top got me out of shape
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| But I can go back to squatting with weight, put race in jakes
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| Sorry, slang blurry, I mean the bowl but honestly
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| I’d rather do shoes with the high and dro, watch the Barry White pro
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| Sipping ice cold, nice with milkshake flows, the brain freeze MCs
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| Kids nasty reminiscing over golden shower
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| Talk smooth enough to move a kilo or flower
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| Time Square rush hour, big gun, little men, and cowards
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| Paid back spitamat coming for hours, the Charles Bronson conscience
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| Hold up, I know you ain’t still talking that nonsense
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| N.Y. is full of beef now, Africa don’t have sacred cows
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| I’m in the big chair like Mao, sixty-nine stolen rollies
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| ‘Bout to hate you now, it’s a lot of mumble heads talking ‘bout Pac
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| And flunk niggas trying to take five shots
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| Got the vest to match the Glock, couple rounds how you ran old block
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| You go there with them undercover cops
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| Same one you need just to go to the spot
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| No wonder you say you hot, backwoods I’ll be with the trees negro please
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| I got six degrees separation between me and these MCs
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| Mostly with Dennis bottle, Baldwin novel, chilling in the
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| The words ring hollow, copied and borrowed
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| They’ll be better tomorrow, but right now darkness reigns
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| I got nothing to lose but your chains, affiliated with ice in my veins
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| Frying pan to the flames, fuck jacking beats, we need planes
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| Destination John Brown things, they hang him in the rain
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| Babylon use they brain, cotton or cocaine, a rose by any other name
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| 007 what I tell you, right now I got this all day
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| Fully automatics for your cabbage, Peter Luger
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| It’s what’s for dinner, medium rare black ninjas
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| Only corpses and winners, let’s eat |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Peter Luger , by - Billy Woods. Song from the album Camouflage [Re-Release], in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп