Lyrics Trouble Shooters - DJ Muggs, Ill Bill, Joaquin Gonzalez

Trouble Shooters

We them trouble shooters in bubblegooses, hit you with double Rugers
Son we ruthless, guns and goon flicks, we run this goon shit
Slit your throat and fuck you with pool sticks, too sick
Super gruesome, intrusive and abusive, shoot you with uzis
Ill Bill, cult leader, a/k/a the ultimate assassin
Show you how to turn a broken cell phone into a ratchet
Veterans of stone, venomous and cold
Terrorists with messengers of chrome, settlements explode
Apocalyptic face off, Babel to Bilderberg, witch’s curse
Pistols burst, incestuous sisters flirt
Seduce you in Lucifer’s church, crucify you, kiss the dirt
Information is power, now put that shit to work;
let the light be revealed
From the Triple Stage Darkness to the Seven Seals
Ebbets Field, forever real, rebels kill
Devil’s fill your glass with forbidden fruit
Hidden truth
Vikings drink blood, gangsters drink gin and juice
I’m surrounded by preachers of porn, creatures of war, leaches and whores
Billionaires with features in Forbes, the creeps and the crawls
Reaching across to touch my enemies with a sword
Put them in they place, represent the deceased with a corpse
With a silver dollar left behind to lay on his eyes
For the boatman at the river Styx to pay for his ride
Saudi businessmen fund terror from their American summer homes
While W lay nude in a coffin for Skull and Bones
Undertones never dumb though, he played the villain
Dumber people think you are
The more surprised they are when you kill them
A never-ending war descending us all, epitome of enemy brawls
Send you to Hell and through heavenly doors
Lebanese arms to sever the devil, heavenly cause
The deadly spar, immortalized in felony bars
The melody’s dark cause of the death metal he brought
And caused by total meth bark, of seventeen blunts
Yeah the streets got a, lot of heart and soul and the Sicksider
Make the block hotter than Hell fuckin with my mind
It’s not a game, the Sick and Infamous is born insane
You do it wrong and they respond with pain
Heroin vein, the pigs stink they’re all the same
Homeland terror got named, the federal came
So it’s troubleshoot, reprogram cannons to damage jaws
Banned hammers from shooting bandanas and camouflage
We killed the man for status, or dead president mathematics
And now we shake the fans tryin to get at it
I was a small crack packin' to the wall jack macking
All swollen on parole, now I’m back black rapping
Soon as I came home I went to my man crib
He give me a quarter brick — get it how you live
Momma I want to sing, momma I got to sling
Delaware trips made a nigga feel like a king
Bling bling, karats on my neck, nah
Carrots in the cup after doing ten sets
Been fresh since Brandy was fuckin' with Ronday
And brown Macy bags used to cover the Con-way
Matter fact when Willis was fuckin' with Charlene
I wrote my first rhyme and since then every bar’s mean
Sean Price, the best rapper in New York
And plus 49 states, nigga my rhyme great
Primate, Sean Don Cornelius
It’s maximum stupidity, par mall silliest
My gift of gab is a gift from God
I will, get you stabbed and get you robbed
On wrong, four-four long
Sean Price didn’t give it as a gift on some Brooklyn shit
Cracked the box with Gemstar then tossed the ox
Slip on my Nike Shox, snatch a Guinness from icebox
Michael Jai White, felony spawn, hell if I’m gone
Fuck atonement for my sins, enemies I’m comin for 'em
On the run like Lucas, preventin niggas from reproducin
Heirs to thrones so I cut short your feature
«Soliloquies of Chaos,» trouble shooters what they are
Bill sends you commission for facilitatin the seance
My mans Sick guardin corridor two
These +Game of Death+ levels does not include Bruce
One thing fo' sho' is a foot in the chest
Like Abdul Jabbar, black shades, arms crossed
So goes the process of elimination
Bound, gagged, and wired up for detonation