Lyrics La Mala Ordina - clipping., The Rita, Elcamino

La Mala Ordina

The bags on the table ain’t for weight, they for body parts
Victim skin stretched across the wall, call it body art
Bodies for the pile, bring 'em out stacked on a dolly cart (Yeah)
Anybody out there ain’t on drugs yet, they should prolly start (Start)
This too real
Talking 'bout your life’s a movie when the party start (Turn up)
But you ain’t pick a genre, lil' bitch that wasn’t hardly smart (No)
The script was shit, your third act really drags, the structure falls apart
So here the fixer come, clipping limbs to serve 'em à la carte
The horror show was so wack, you said you’d never go back
But you standing over the stove talking 'bout you really know crack
(What you know)
Crack is what a skull do (Yep), so if someone getting brain
That mean it was nice to know you, the spinal fluid a go-to
To thicken the pot, the clique out in the whip whipping the snot
Out a submissive till he shit blood
You thought they was dickin' a thot?
You got your rap shit fucked up
Matchstick tucked up under the tongue
Pour the oil, smell the sulfur, then you run (Run)
I’m rollin' up in the back of a G-wagon
I’m always on G-status, look (Look G’ed up, nigga)
40 on my lap, that’s the heat package
I’m from a hood where we beat rappers (We beat these pussy ass niggas)
We way too grimey, we don’t see rappers (Don't see y’all niggas)
They s’posed to be street, but really be actors
I really be with the jackers
The ones who be clappin' shit and pistol packin'
Niggas who really trappin' (Really trappin')
Cocaine selling with 60 in they mattress (Stackin' nigga)
And do it with passion
This how these bitches be doin' they lashes
I hate niggas that sit on they asses (Fuckin' hate y’all niggas)
Always asking but they ain’t makin' shit happen
Get out my way I’m craftin', laughin' (We laughin')
Let me spark my matches
Yo, I hope you niggas can jet (Uh huh)
'Cause you dealing with a rapper that smoke contenders for rec (Nigga)
Real dope boy, I cook coke and interval stretch diamonds
Right outta pot everything invisible set (Yeah)
Trunk got pies in it, disappeared in five minutes
The plug took the team where we never been like Kawhi Leonard (Woo)
Tote straps never smoked jack but go live with it (What)
In my book that’s dry snitchin' but that’s only my opinion
Gangstas know, killers stay patient till they down something (Chill)
But hit 'em like a real estate agent when he house huntin'
Rolex dial studded feds say my time flooded (Damn)
Put another chain on my neck and I’m a drown from it
El Padrino in the El Camino
If you bitch, get a jive switch and sell what’s legal (Pussy)
We might smile ear to ear but you can tell we evil
These rap niggas dye they hair just to sell some singles
The Butcher!
Rock, paper, ice pick;
nice trick, no homonym
Cutouts from a magazine, make letters for your mom and them
Who remember arts and crafts, these killers is artisans
With an arsenal to elevate your arteries, start again
Rock, paper, zip tie;
that slow burn that drip dry
That fissures in your field of vision make your world a fisheye
That round edge make it worser when the bubble burst you just cry
Laid out on the floor without a tongue trying to ask why
Rock, paper, gun shot;
classic out in some spots
If you prefer the sweet life maybe you can die like gum drops
Smooth and round and melting if you’re left out when the sun’s hot
This the preferred method of smart killers and dumb cops
Rock, paper, papercut;
take 'em out to get tapered up
Tie