Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Omar Suarez, artist - Ill Bill. Album song Septagram, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 09.06.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Uncle Howie
Song language: English
Omar Suarez |
| Ill Bill keep it real like the 80's when we flooded the projects |
| Or like Ollie North when he funded the Contras |
| Like Cody Sky homie we constructed a monster |
| Holding the Glock postin' yes we run for the chopper |
| It’s a black carpet event, martyrs (in jets) start up a pit |
| Who the fuck pop off harder than this |
| When I hit you the impact is like if God had a fist |
| I’m hollow tip my every molecule is part of the clip |
| I’ve been (lied) apart sick show a part of the chip |
| I’m not (showby) on the shadow of a doubt if I exist |
| Bitch talked up papy for discount on the brick |
| Kid walked up cocky got shot in the dick |
| Finance is a gun, politics is knowing when to pull the trigger |
| Electric heretic the zig-zag zigga |
| With the Arm-Leg-Leg-Arm-Head, God descends |
| Part of the spiritually dead, pop the pistol through your head |
| Brooklyn 1986 Nike sneakers and beamers |
| Teenagers buying keys from drug dealers named Jesus |
| We the reason for the Secret Service |
| Posted in trees with burners, exploding like a overheating furnace |
| I seen the truth rise and fall the (?) were born |
| Fuck the system, fuck who I offend these whores |
| Shout words that we live but don’t play with it |
| 'Cause when the shit go down you be like they did it |
| They call me matzah ball, I’m mixing with an isotol |
| Cause Howie told me the proper cull when the cops get called |
| Activist clients fourty boxes like rockin tour |
| From the projects to going hungry selling rocks of raw |
| Like Nicky Sixx live wire, Spawn born of fire |
| The two messiahs |
| It’s over, the Elohim and Billy Squire |
| The body in the trunk, been smelling for a week |
| What you wanna do, bury it and burn it, then burn leak |
| Belt Parkway like I’m Roy DeMeo |
| Chop you in the tub for yayo |
| Run it by bengals, piano wire, million pesos |
| If we on the grid we sit with no payrolls |
| Like Tuddy walk with respect with umbrellas to payphones |
| I’ve seen the truth |
| I got scars from state phones |
| And dead homies, kissing their casket on final way home |
| Demented retribution canted with the congregation |
| Blessed to death, the angel Kabalah meditation |
| That piece of shit up there, I never liked him, I never trusted him |
| For all I know he had me set up and had my friend Angel Fernandez killed |
| But that’s history |
| I’m here, he’s not |
| Do you wanna go on with me, you say it |
| You don’t, then you make a move |