| A motherfucker recognize a thug mashin' hard
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| Straight out the plot of my cemetery yard
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| Buried so long, nobody gave a shit
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| Blood and tears, embedded in my casket
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| Been surrounded, old folks everywhere
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| Smell of dry piss covered the air
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| When I heard the voices say arise from the grave
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| I quickly dug myself out and went to find the 12-gauge
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| Shotgun, double barrelled sawed off pump
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| Safety runs thru the target if you test me
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| Psycho thug, mashin' outta control
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| Spent too many fuckin' years deep in a hole
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| But still I’m a killa, feindin' for the streets
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| Slangin' rocks on a 9 to 5 beat
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| All that change, now got maggots on my face
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| I’m back from the dead to give yo ass a taste
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| The grave ain’t no place for a psycho thug killa!
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| Hustla on the street, neighborhood drug deala!
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| The grave ain’t no place, I should be out mashin!
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| Never goin' back to my muthafuckin' casket!
|
| The grave ain’t no place for a psycho thug killa!
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| Hustla on the street, neighborhood drug deala!
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| The grave ain’t no place, I should be out mashin!
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| Never goin' back to my muthafuckin' casket!
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| The grave ain’t no place to be
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| Too much like the penetentary
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| Locked away in concrete
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| I’m buried 6 feet
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| Guess so, so when you roam
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| You can find your way home
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| Cuffs tight around the wrist cause I was bustin' my chrome
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| Dark visions in the smog when I walk with the dead
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| Bad dreams in the night keep you shakin' in bed
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| Is it all in your head cause you’re locked in a cage?
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| And clear your mind and get shanked and live the cemetery way
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| I’m sittin' in the cemetery
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| I got a plan to kill a pig so I placed a phony call about a bitch I buried
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| Fuck a cell, I won’t ever go back
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| I got you creasin' in my pocket like a folded up rap
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| I look in the back, a squad car pullin' up slow
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| I grabbed the pistol in the hand with the glove, and let it blow
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| Dashin' off like a theif in the night
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| To me it was right
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| I had to end his muthafuckin' life
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| The grave ain’t no place for a psycho thug killa!
|
| Hustla on the street, neighborhood drug deala!
|
| The grave ain’t no place, I should be out mashin!
|
| Never goin' back to my muthafuckin' casket!
|
| The grave ain’t no place for a psycho thug killa!
|
| Hustla on the street, neighborhood drug deala!
|
| The grave ain’t no place, I should be out mashin!
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| Never goin' back to my muthafuckin' casket!
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| They can’t keep a dead body locked down
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| In the ground
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| Of the pen
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| Came thru the dirt, break free again
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| Leave my home of the grave, shared with the roaches
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| Back on the street, keep an eye on the vultures
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| Flip, my escape out the front gates
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| When the pigs check yo' friends, ain’t no trace
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| Of a gangsta, I’m already out robbin' suckers
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| Pistol whippin' bitches, puttin' holes in motherfuckers
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| Act like you know, Psychopathic on the glock
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| And I gives no fuck when I’m mashin' up ya block
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| Empty out the chamber, so long to your family
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| Everybody history
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| Nothing left but memories
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| Friends start to cry and you’re one with the earth
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| Ain’t nobody cry for me, not even the church
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| My rebirth was greeted my a police chase
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| But I’m a thug motherfucker, I ain’t catchin' a case
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| The grave ain’t no place for a psycho thug killa!
|
| Hustla on the street, neighborhood drug deala!
|
| The grave ain’t no place, I should be out mashin!
|
| Never goin' back to my muthafuckin' casket!
|
| The grave ain’t no place for a psycho thug killa!
|
| Hustla on the street, neighborhood drug deala!
|
| The grave ain’t no place, I should be out mashin!
|
| Never goin' back to my muthafuckin' casket!
|
| The grave ain’t no place for a psycho thug killa!
|
| Hustla on the street, neighborhood drug deala!
|
| The grave ain’t no place, I should be out mashin!
|
| Never goin' back to my muthafuckin' casket!
|
| The grave ain’t no place for a psycho thug killa!
|
| Hustla on the street, neighborhood drug deala!
|
| The grave ain’t no place, I should be out mashin!
|
| Never goin' back to my muthafuckin' casket! |