Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bowels of the Devil, artist - Body Count. Album song Body Count, in the genre Хардкор
Date of issue: 09.03.1992
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Warner
Song language: English
Bowels of the Devil |
Out one night, yo, just chillin’out with my crew |
We were actin’wild |
'cause I didn’t have nothin’else better to do. |
Got a nine at my waist |
stay out my fuckin’face. |
You fuck with me right here’ll be your resting place. |
Some ol’sucka, yo, he tried to put a move on me |
I shot him in the face, |
murder, in the first degree. |
Now I’m sweatin', regrettin', |
that’s not for me they got me locked in the fuckin’penitentiary. |
Bowels of the devil, |
let me tell you what the muthafucka eats, |
its stomach’s filled with lost souls |
guts made out of steel and concrete. |
Bowels of the devil, |
listen close, 'cause I’ve been there before |
and you don’t wanna die there, |
they call it goin’out the back door, |
the back door, the back door, the back door. |
Walked in the club all the ho’s gave me the sex look |
they like a nigga like me 'cause I’m a known crook, |
and my posse’s down, we don’t mess around, |
you fuck with us, |
you’ll be six feet underground. |
That night they got me locked in a row called death |
the governor, that muthafucka wants my last breath. |
That’s right, homeboy wanted to pull a switch on me up here in this fuckin’penitentiary. |
Bowels of the devil, |
let me tell you what the sucka eats, |
its stomach’s filled with my homeboys |
guts made out of steel and concrete. |
Bowels of the devil, |
listen close, 'cause I’ve been there before |
and you don’t wanna die there, |
they call it goin’out the back door, |
the back door, the back door, the back door. |
Yeah! |
Bowels of the devil, |
let me tell you what the muthafucka eats, |
its stomach’s filled with my homeboys |
guts made out of steel and concrete. |
Bowels of the devil, |
listen close, 'cause I’ve been there before |
and you don’t wanna die there, |
they call it goin’out the back door, |
the bowels of the devil, |
let me tell you what that sucka eats, |
its stomach’s filled with lost souls |
guts made out of steel and concrete. |
Bowels of the devil, |
listen close, 'cause I’ve been there before |
and you don’t wanna die there, |
they call it goin’out the back door, |
the back door, the back door, the back door. |