| No questions for you too ask, no gats for you to blast
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| No money, weed, no cash
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| It’s time to get in that ass
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| Mr. Dead Folx, Colton Grundy Ya Dead Homie
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| Don’t be acting like you don’t see me
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| Believe me man you don’t know me
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| I was the first to put it down
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| Reppin' with Twiztid and the clowns kicking the gangsta sounds
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| Strictly keep it underground
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| Lotus in the family, you now how we do
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| Coming for ours and won’t hesitate to ride on you
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| Record sales don’t make you bulletproof
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| Big time, and we both know you don’t be doing that shit that’s in your rhymes
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| You ain’t a G like me, you ain’t the thug I be
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| You watered down, like the punks I see on MTV
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| Where you’re motherfucking trees, always asking for smoke
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| Ain’t it a bitch, everybody a G when wearing Loc’s
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| That’s a figure of speech, and I be sick in the heat
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| Whoever think he the shit, trying to claim my territory
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| I’m a motherfucking G with heaters loaded and cocked
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| You’s a small time pee-on, braggin of running rocks
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| Bitch break yourself, for everything and then some
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| Hold the mic to my dick, so you can hear me when I cum
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| No questions for you too ask, no gats for you to blast
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| No money, weed, no cash
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| It’s time to get in that ass
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| Mr. Dead Folx, Colton Grundy Ya Dead Homie
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| Don’t be acting like you don’t see me
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| Believe me man you don’t know me
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| Never ever was I a bitch hoe,
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| You can put that on my ten-fold
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| Ma pop Grundy and them know I sicko
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| Baby boy got banana clips for his chopper
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| Known to bring drama somethin' proper
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| Check nuts
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| Colton Grundy got handles, I got the J
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| So when I’m spiting from the big oh line, nuts' in your face
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| Dead homie on a ho-port, smoking a Newport
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| Spiting at the bitches, and bumping that new Too Short
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| Life is nothing I can even they to relate to, for real though
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| Being dead is serious, it change you
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| All I got left in this world, is my music to play
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| So you correct if you thinkin', that I’m a do my thang
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| And all the thugs that with me, throw your shit in the air
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| And wave those motherfuckers side to side
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| Like you don’t care
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| And if you feeling like I’m feeling, then it’s plainy clear
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| 'Cause it’s a whole bunch of dead folk chilling in here
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| No questions for you too ask, no gats for you to blast
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| No money, weed, no cash
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| It’s time to get in that ass
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| Mr. Dead Folx, Colton Grundy Ya Dead Homie
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| Don’t be acting like you don’t see me
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| Believe me man you don’t know me
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| It’s me and Blaze, drunk driving in an 87 Cutlass
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| Taking turns at the wheel while the other claps motherfuckers
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| You’re chick, I’m dicking that
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| Wicked shit, I’m kicking that
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| I’m hitting with the quickness, life’s stinking, where the chickens at?
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| You made a wrong turn coming down my block
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| I’ll stop your car like I need help, and crack your head with a rock
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| Uh, Colton Grundy the only homie I got,
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| Mr. Dead Folx sparking at the burial spot
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| We about to ride on the world, leave it deserted like Marz
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| Get your wig spilt, by 40 juggalo rap stars
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| A little kid asked me if I ever killed anybody (yes)
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| I told 'em that I did and was warm and bloody
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| I’m Violent J, I’ll be around until my dieng day
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| On tour smoking bud, and eating Flying J
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| Look me up under 'Juggla' and you’ll find my name
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| And if you don’t, then you’re dictionary’s lame motherfucka!
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| No questions for you too ask, no gats for you to blast
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| No money, weed, no cash
|
| It’s time to get in that ass
|
| Mr. Dead Folx, Colton Grundy Ya Dead Homie
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| Don’t be acting like you don’t see me
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| Believe me man you don’t know me
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| Mr Dead Folx
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| Believe me man you don’t know me |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mr. Deadfolx, artist - Blaze Ya Dead Homie. Album song Colton Grundy, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп