| Benign minds that rhyme can’t fuck with the clandestine
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| Hand-to-mind, my line taps a nine like a cat o' nine
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| Mutilating cadavers and digits. |
| Spit it out
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| From my trachea, makes me an alche… my
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| Chemicals attack livers of niggas that rap with a
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| TEC-9. |
| I’ll wreck rhymes and smack local rap figures
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| Pitter-patter, my sickle splatter your little matter
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| Corrosed and mummified, encased in the brittle batter
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| But, suckers, I’ll run up your tookus, so talk shit
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| I’ll walk with ligaments that’s caustic ‘cause I lost it
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| Forced it, the heavenly follows ‘til my tomorrow
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| So I don’t see you. |
| I see terror, medical horror
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| I trigger rigor mortis, meticulous when I’m kicking
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| This habitual, virtual body of carnival rituals
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| I’m hurting you, innards and stomped gut get hacked on
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| Contents coagulated, I managed to rap
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| Long, beyond the door lies more guys to trample
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| A flesh-eater fetus with more eyes to sample
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| Implements of pain, hang in my morgue with ran-
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| -cid meat, sheets that reeks of, like, dog shit
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| Bags of body is exhumed, entombed, then I bury them
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| Smitten, shitting, walking ‘round my sanitarium
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| Go run, tell. |
| Son, Hell is better ta
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| Avoiding ill niggas polishing skulls like The Predator, yeah
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| My technique’ll wreck sheets from Palestine to clan-
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| -destine, I’ll plant a mine to destroy rhymes that can’t align
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| I’ll stomp ghosts and play high-post upon your steeple
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| My eye cries red as I reveal ill-type evil
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| I peeped, through flesh, the spools of fools in my bar space
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| So get blown the fuck away like Monty did in Scarface
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| A bizarre race that Allah chased. |
| Give me my pa’s
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| Face. |
| I’m taking revenge on niggas that pa hates
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| The mortician creating incisions with wit precision
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| You’re wishing and then you are chilling with hella Christians
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| I list ten men that deserve to get blasted
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| And do work as I smirk, their skins are gently plastered
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| On these hollow halls, balls and smashed, drained, and simmered
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| Dinner the pitfalls that could fall on niggas' innards
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| I am so depressed that I let
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| Off rounds at cops in broad daylight without a vest, just
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| Testing and you’re destined to rest less
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| Than zero. |
| I’m a nigga that loves to blast, I’m the ant-hero
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| Ozone
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| Depletions. |
| Zones increase? |
| Then take the ville gases
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| That make me break out, like, laugh like your masses
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| As for your pastor, he’s past a spot of humor
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| He can’t mess with a spirit that snap necks with Moctezuma
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| Design exhumer, sucking souls to leave a carcass
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| Crustified remains of brains reduced to porridge
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| Polysaccharide from the crack of mind starts to
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| Dilapitize my insides, I desecrate where rappers die
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| My eyes glisten, wishing my girl would listen
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| I’m disincarnate, devoid of life, and now my mission is
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| To imprison, design benevolence to crucifixion
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| Spittle typhus, infect my enemies through use of diction
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| Rancid, run sticks plus clips and snub tips and tons
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| Of NoDoz. |
| To keep my past up, I blast my photos
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| Heron, barbiturates sit on my dresser, they’re wre-
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| -cking me to run to water, succumb to pressure
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| Nevertheless, I’ll progress the shit that bust your earlobe
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| I’ll walk a thin line between a murderer and hero, yeah |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Frontin' Ass Ducks , by - Godfather Don. Song from the album The Ill Funk Freaker, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп