Lyrics Killer from the West - Conejo

Killer from the West

Twelve o’clock midnight was the time that I arose
One thing on my mind, I wanted to get loco
On a misión is why you can’t find me
I’m rolling with a treno, ese me and my crimey
That’s Shady, my perro, ese watch my back
Gonna get this feria, gonna break some backs
Cause that’s the only way that I knew
One more strike, I get caught and I’m through
Soy Conejo, Tiny L-O-C-O-S
Hoover Park gangster, 2−11, P-H-S
And something wicked, comes this way
As Veneno my carnal, ese crawls out his grave
With vengeance and the look of a killer
And the look in his eyes, like the devil in disguise
Vatos wanna run and vatos wanna hide
They’re dropping in the calles, enemigas gotta die
These vatos wanna run, these vatos wanna hide
Dropping in the calles, enemigas gotta die
Before I really knew it, I was riding with the rest
My varrio on my back and my clica on my chest
The familia’s ahuitada on the way that we turned out
I brung it on myself, it’s not my jefa’s fault
The dimensions that I enter, can’t be explained
So all this loquera is the way that I maintain
The war in the calles will never fucking cease
Now I steer the county homeboys that are now rest in peace
Conejo, Los Harpy’s, loco yo controlo
I snatched that microphone, y yo me paro solo
Cause who I gotta fear, when my varrio’s got my back
With a erre full of carga, I’m feeling really smacked
I heard the gunshots from blocks away
As we made it to the spot, where the homeboy laid
There was yellow tape ese, around the scene
The homeboy got killed, not again, not a dream
I felt the presence, of someone from the West
It’s a work of a killer, it’s a killer from the West
So let me assume and let me decide
Who of my victims be the first one to die
Vatos wanna run and vatos wanna hide
Dropping enemigas, enemigas gotta die
Vatos wanna run and vatos wanna hide
They’re dropping in the calles, enemigas gotta die
Sabes que?
Fuck them vatos
Aqui para los Harpy’s
That’s right, pasa la .38 de volada
So I can deal with them
Conejo fucking Trix, insane like Cocaine
In the City of Angels, there ain’t no Angels
Puro vato loco, crazy gangbangers
Al rato, that’s right