| Let the life lesson begin
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| Recite Reverend Wright rhetoric then
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| Be a motherfucker just like Oedipus and
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| Live by the sin commandments instead of the 10
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| Life’s better when you invite predators in
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| You should purposely misinterpret the 2nd Amendment
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| And buy a vest, ‘cause I don’t mean biceps when I mention
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| I’m bearing arms, yeah it’s 9/11 again
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| That mean I’m fly to the death: fly terrorist been
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| Sexin' your ex and her bisexual twin
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| Hittin' it from the back while I am texting her friend
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| I spit this shit live, I exit the pen
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| I’m a landmine nigga, die steppin' to him
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| Come through with the drama
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| I don’t mean a ménage à trois when I say «Fuck you and your mama!»
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| I’m a, deadbeat dad: I son bastards
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| Every rhyme in my head is an unwrapped gift
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| I’m a writer, with Mark Twain acclaim
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| Stark raving angry; |
| I’ll bite you
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| With sharp fangs that drain your vein
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| I’m flyer; |
| the archangel came to save
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| The Dark Ages, like arcades, the game it changed
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| The ‘U' Gang, start murdering drums
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| The four of us connect to the beat like heart chambers
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| Man, I got shooting guard game, I aim
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| This king flash heat: I’m LeBron James and Wade
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| Listen now you can call it boastin'
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| But I’m a superstar; |
| yeah you in awe
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| You and all your folks look close
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| I’m exuding all this dopeness
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| When I flow I’mma move in no emotion but anger
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| I can’t explain Newton’s Law of Motion
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| But when the tool gets drawn, you be ???
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| I don’t like you rappers' snide attitude
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| I knock you out the high-class like you dropped outta school
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| Y’all ain’t got bars like serviceless phones, yet you think you can bust
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| No lie, I got more lines than Cingular does
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| Don’t get it twisted like phone cords tangling up
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| I’m off the hook nigga, and I’m far from hangin' it up
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| They shake like cellies on vibrate when shit’s ringing
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| ‘Cause I’ll hit you from long distance when banging a snub
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| Don’t question my excellence; |
| me wreckin' it is definite
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| Your life will stop when death ends it, by the .38 specialist
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| Death to whoever think they wrecking it better
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| I’m hot as being left in the desert while dressed in some leather
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| But cold enough to change the temp: I can mess with the weather
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| Have you questioning whether
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| My jab may be messing with Weather’s
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| My pen bleed black poison on inkpads
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| The shit I’m on is dope: I need rehab
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| No bullet can match how fast I throw each jab
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| I’ll hang you by your ankles and use your face as my speedbag
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| My niggas listen to this verse and see why I’m on some cocky shit
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| Won’t stop grinding ‘til my bills on some Cosby shit
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| I wish you would try to rob me for my rocky wrist
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| I swing on niggas over ice on some hockey shit
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| I come out to play when the day’s finished
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| See the gauge in the vague image of a crazed menace
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| You rain and miss shots, race through the rain dripping
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| I’ll move you into a ditch: you’ll become a grave tenant
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| My medallion is dressed in astounding Baguettes
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| Hangin' and danglin' from the rocks surroundin' my neck
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| A beast on my King Kong shit, pounding my chest
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| Constantly bustin' just ‘cause I love the sound of my TEC
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| Listen, got a problem? |
| Come try me
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| Come test if you want, it’s whatever
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| Point your Beretta, my knife is still under your sweater
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| You think you sick, we
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| I’ll put you 6 feet deep where the wind don’t blow
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| Now you really under the weather
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| Yeah, you really under the weather
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| You should’ve brung an umbrella
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| What’s the meaning of handgun?
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| Hand a gun to a fella
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| I’ll Heimlich the trigger, you die choking
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| My gun got a hole in its lung: it won’t stop smokin'
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| My son got a hole in his lung: it was shot open
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| Bloody «redrum» when we come is the block’s slogan
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| Get your spot broke in
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| Get your pockets ripped off
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| Nigga guap stolen
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| Before cops stroll in
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| I dipped off
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| Nigga, I go in
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| Macho men
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| Watch yo' chin
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| Ox-o-gen
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| Is leavin' your body
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| Collapse and you’re through
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| Gat’s finna spew
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| Cats introduced
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| To hell; |
| I’ll relax in your room
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| Chill under your bed, until I pump lead
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| Through the mattress and you
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| Yeah, I’m killin' niggas if I’m feelin' they want war
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| High off every pill in the drug store
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| Willing to kick in your front door
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| Now I’m stickin' my dick in your young whore
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| While she screamin' and kickin', I want more
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| I’m sick — the reason is unknown
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| What’s wrong with loadin' up my gun when a love song comes on?
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| And shit, this is what separates us from a bunch of regular rappers
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| Getting back to the frontrunners
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| C.O.B. |
| my religion; |
| I’m not atheist
|
| Iced-out Nas alias: Godson
|
| In the COB I’m a patriot, just like Tom Brady is
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| Keep a giant Colt, stay on my Eli and Peyton biz
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| Colt .45: now who wanna joke?
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| I give a nigga a hundred punches and cut his throat
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| Your favorite rapper’s a bitch — I say it unprovoked
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| I shoot a star like the rifle came with a Hubble scope
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| If you don’t know who we are, then you don’t wanna know
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| Your pistol was pointed at me, but you don’t want it though |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Drum Murder , by - Crooked I. Song from the album In None We Trust - The Prelude EP, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп