Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Wreckgonize, artist - CRU. Date of issue: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Wreckgonize |
| Yo all I do is drop lethal, yall know my peo-ple |
| Verbally it’s a massacre |
| I’m sharper then shanks up in Attica |
| Choke them lethally till he suffocate |
| Lifeless but step into this shit that’s priceless |
| I cut the life force, now I’m on the right course |
| I stifle, those that pop shit but carry rifle, triflin |
| Yet I’m wise, every murder’s organized |
| It’s premeditated so brothers recognize |
| No escapin the hell-a-coust, pay your toll, come across |
| And watch me test my burner on a horse |
| Hom-i-ci-dal, I used the vital when I step to suck-a-cidal |
| It all balls down to my recital |
| No time to waste, fill the bass I got ya head in the suitcase |
| Smilin while I’m look at ya dead face |
| The cause of death still remains a mystery it’s a pity |
| They caught me cause the source had to flicker me |
| Not at all tops the shame, no external no blood stains |
| Sharp objects to pierce the brain |
| I got enough dope for your veins and restrain |
| Hand cuffs and chains nuthin but pain |
| Nigga, you better Wreckgonize |
| You bett-er, Wreck-gon-nize |
| Nigga, you better Wreckgonize |
| Nigga, you better Wreckgonize, nigga |
| Car-los, the base head, is lurkin (lurkin) |
| Askin for change nigga constantly urkin |
| Ms. Elizabeth callin out the win-dow to her husband Joe |
| Nigga died a year ago |
| And every day’s the 4th of July with the sparks in the sky |
| Aimin at the Gods as we get high, what’s your pleasure? |
| Sippin on the booze and the Cru’s smoke the blunts |
| The whole blunt, nuthin but the blunt |
| But the O heads in the pro-jects, hit the he-ron |
| Dozin off in front of liquor stores through a p-long |
| Don’t know how to act, Sister Eve go to church |
| But she still smoke the cracks, praise to the lord, doin bad |
| Spanish kids across the bridge popin on that nes tabs |
| Go to the bar drop the «yay-yo» |
| Sniffin with the lows, all red lookin feyo |
| And the ledge round the way, Yogi still smokes dust |
| Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice-Be, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice) |
| I guess that lesson wasn’t delivered |
| When Chip and Elah took that long walk in the river |
| Fuck a 95, we got the 9 2−5's, 3 8−10, 2 4−4's |
| Make a nigga hesitate |
| That’s if you don’t know the date |
| In actuality violence is my reality |
| Some tend to talk me but to them it’s just a fallacy |
| True lies, you kick your stories on the street |
| Now it’s true, listened twisted up and say it was you |
| But me, I’m representin while my peeps puff herb, superb |
| Dropin bombs like a Boznian, Serb’s my word |
| It gets no deeper, I bet the Grim Reaper |
| While layin on my chest wish-in I had worn a vest |
| Now don’t ask why just Wreckgonize my demise |
| Runnin from 4−5's spark the drive-by's |
| Long hot days in July, the blood dries |
| And the kid that didn’t run is the kid who dies |
| The body states of America filled with lies |
| Shorties runin and gunin in front of God’s eye |
| It ain’t no surprise that the brain just fries |
| Due to excessive use of the get highs |
| And I’m that same nigga drinkin Mi-tie |
| And we can’t kick out habits no matter how man-y tries |
| Living amongst the new world, doin despise |
| Guys that don’t give a fuck the just chastise |
| But I rise, see my mind’s too wise |
| Catchin bodies with chip-a-bodies I have no ties |
| Hittin home runs while you hit pop flies |
| Don’t mind the size nigga just Wreckgonize |