Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Walking Dead, artist - Ill Bill. Album song Howie Made Me Do It 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 25.11.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Uncle Howie
Song language: English
The Walking Dead |
The ill diabolical fiend this mad scientist |
Kill the cartel, rule the land with a iron fist |
Ruste Juxx I be spitting that |
Body new rappers, homie, watch who you getting at |
Brrap, the bold cap snapback |
I hit you with the brrat 'till your cap snap back |
Further, knocking on them Pearly Gates |
I’m organizing late funerals and early wakes |
For any hot stepper trying to dance with the devil |
Gravedigger, stand over your corpse with a shovel |
Dropping dirt on it, fill it up then I’m out |
They building something on the lands so now I gotta dig 'em out |
Hoodfella, I rob for deniros |
Too many lives lost for trying to be a hero |
My patience is zero, I’m keeping it a hundred |
Everytime I had a fight in my life I never fronted |
I’m the realest |
Illest man walking, night of the living dead |
Tombstone hopper, got a price on my head |
Graveyard shipping, gotta keep the monsters fed |
Things that go bumping at night, fool, you scared |
I’m the illest man walking, night of the living dead |
Tombstone hopper, got a price on my head |
Graveyard shipping, gotta keep the monsters fed |
Things that go bumping at night, fool, you scared |
I spit a murder verse scary as October 31st |
House keeping, streets sweeping when doing my dirty work |
Marijuana sparker, playing that drum like Travis Barker |
Fam, I will valet park ya |
Take your keys then get that cake before you leave |
Gun talk, shooting the breeze |
I put a popper to your chopper drop a hundred emcees |
Hard ten below, but I spit the summer degrees |
That mac wind made his hat spin |
There’s a million mad men in my trash bin |
So when I buck at you bastards |
Calm your frontline, and call it a muscle relaxer |
Results of my violence is silence, we all can sleep |
Me home, you six feet deep |
Well-known heavy hitter, whoever want it |
Everytime I step to the plate, I never bund it |
I’m the illest |
I’m a product of the projects, a menace to society |
My consciense thinks progress but my greed thinks violently |
Give me that, run that, kill me or I come back |
Taking what I wanna take, homie, I’m a scumbag |
So disrespectful I know my parents taught me better than that |
But couldn’t keep me away from felony rap |
Not talking about music, this is felony robbery |
Strong arm with the uzi, intercepting the economy |
Touch down, get down clown, kiss the ground |
And I’m too broke to own a silencer, homie, this is loud |
Matter of fact, definetely, make your ears ring |
Crazy you can get shot and not feel it at first, it’s a weird thing |
Pass out, wake up in the emergency room |
With people you never met before nursing your wounds |
Your little sister crying, doctors are inserting a tube |
Down your throat, oh well, nothing personal dude |
Bill is the illest |