| I spit that floating Pentagram, my beard resemble Baphomet
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| Black hoodie with a black robe and the staff of death
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| Mullets and mustaches, tiger print muscle tees
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| Hustle Gs, a drug dealer’s dream is a hundred keys
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| Enter the Supercoven, shoot your mother, Joe Fixit
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| Coke bricks and scopes click into rifles, approach business
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| Like an octopus, duck down when the shotgun bust
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| Cannibal Hulk equal vodka multiplied by dust
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| Superhuman strength, lift cars and save little kids' lives
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| Like Ol' Dirty Bastard in his prime I’m a
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| Menace to a society that can not define me
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| I’m so high right now I can’t even define what high means
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| Haha, I feel I have a greater purpose though
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| Spit that purple dro, murder flow like the Kurtis Blow
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| Gun warm in my palm although my arm’s cold
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| What awaits me in the beyond, only God knows
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| Anton LaVey had a pet lion, I’ma get rich or dead trying
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| On them projects steps with the sket iron
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| Ops get rocked and robbed, to the mouth of God
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| Pop the fuck off like Al Shabaab
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| My killers ugly like Joe Cocker
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| Rock you to sleep like cold vodka
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| You in the trunk now all chopped off
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| I’m Father Yod with the hang glider
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| With fourteen wives battle for whose pussy tighter
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| My killers ugly like Joe Cocker
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| Rock you to sleep like cold vodka
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| You in the trunk now all chopped off
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| I’m Father Yod with the hang glider
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| With fourteen wives battle for whose pussy tighter
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| I’m like Sbarro’s in '86, Camaros, cable links your pharaos
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| Trigger finger, styrofoam or potato barrels
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| Age of steel, Tatum O’Neal, sleeves and gumdrops
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| Hustle anything that alter, PCP or crush rock
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| Triple pack, Mackenzie Phillips, basement kin
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| If you worked for it, no need to hit it, makin' a sale
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| I’m like Brando on Letterman, I cop Denali off elephants
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| From cellophane to tenaments to heavy developments
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| Glenwood fortunes, what about jumping out refrigerators
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| Deep cook, he slip a body up in the incinerator
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| Coughin' syrup we drinkin', bone fragments and trinkets
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| I don’t have to kill 'cause I think it, Charlie with Mayas and Incas
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| The kind of Hulk, get this torch from the face of carnage
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| Like Amber Lynn hooked on meth >❓❓❓❓❓❓<, they ain’t sharp as bombers
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| My killers ugly like Joe Cocker
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| Rock you to sleep like cold vodka
|
| You in the trunk now all chopped off
|
| I’m Father Yod with the hang glider
|
| With fourteen wives battle for whose pussy tighter
|
| My killers ugly like Joe Cocker
|
| Rock you to sleep like cold vodka
|
| You in the trunk now all chopped off
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| I’m Father Yod with the hang glider
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| With fourteen wives battle for whose pussy tighter |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hulk Meat , by - Ill Bill. Song from the album Cannibal Hulk, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп