Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sheet Music, artist - Gangrene.
Date of issue: 06.08.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Sheet Music |
They say the boy is old school |
WWF, I will smack a fucking chair into that little ass chest |
You out of breath, that means you in need of some rest, have a seat, literal |
I’m yelling to the crowd and they yelling to get rid of you |
And I don’t need the cage or the rings |
I’m from the game that goes bang in your dreams |
So keep dreaming like a gauge in your sleep |
So I can see what you thought on the sheets, I call it sheet music |
Like the counting the sheep moving, The sleep movement |
They seep into it, I see what you doing, you’re sick, I see through it |
Like a live leak to a filming, From a local’s phone |
I choke ya focus, Gone like hocus pocus, a locust swarm |
The only way you hearing a buzz |
Over the music that they play in the clubs |
Sending the thugs baby, show me some love |
I see the haters, they ain’t fucking with us |
(They ain’t fucking with us) |
Never that, I’m better at it, you little fuck |
Whoever ratted got bullet tatted the full advantage |
I’m laughing at it, trying to find a little good in us |
Good luck motherfucker, night night motherfucker |
Smoke blunts, you know the black is potent |
Don’t front, you know I got cha open |
At lunch with the snakes and pigeons |
Front, get punched in your face for living |
Listen, I beam ya wig, your scene is riddled |
My dreams is big, my crib is little |
Living in the Ville is risky |
Niggas green with envy but I’m Bill Bixby |
Mr. McGee don’t get me angry |
You wouldn’t like it when I’m angry |
Listen, P, new Lou Ferrigno |
Big bullets that shoot through you and your kinfolks |
Ruck from Heltah |
.9 clapped, spine tapped and fuck your felt up |
Snuff to the wack boy |
Biggest nigga in my group Buff from the Fat Boys, P! |
Never that, I’m better at it, you little fuck |
Whoever ratted got bullet tatted the full advantage |
I’m laughing at it, trying to find a little good in us |
Good luck motherfucker, night night motherfucker |
I’m crumbling the dope, two G’s in a bucket |
Big bundle for the rope, twenty G’s for the nugget |
Doing slaloms in the slope, my machinery’s rugged |
You pussy with a shit stain, bikini is muddy |
Break levee when I rain to the vicinity, flooded |
So I could test my human skid canouved |
This is only a small portion, I’m giving you a snippet view |
Trailer visual sicker than salmonella Chicken flu |
My creative juice come from a different fruit |
When you sip it strong like Guinness brew |
Spill blood on your tennis shoe |
Before I bless Chalice, I use paper clip to scrape the residue |
Stick man get the money, take the revenue (Get the money) |
Theme music for you to push the Lamborghini pedal to |
Explode a grenade and pieces of metal flew |
Collateral damage aim for the torso but the leg will do |
Never that, I’m better at it, you little fuck |
Whoever ratted got bullet tatted the full advantage |
I’m laughing at it, trying to find a little good in us |
Good luck motherfucker, night night motherfucker |