Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hulk Meat, artist - Ill Bill. Album song Cannibal Hulk, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 28.03.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Uncle Howie
Song language: English
Hulk Meat |
| I spit that floating Pentagram, my beard resemble Baphomet |
| Black hoodie with a black robe and the staff of death |
| Mullets and mustaches, tiger print muscle tees |
| Hustle Gs, a drug dealer’s dream is a hundred keys |
| Enter the Supercoven, shoot your mother, Joe Fixit |
| Coke bricks and scopes click into rifles, approach business |
| Like an octopus, duck down when the shotgun bust |
| Cannibal Hulk equal vodka multiplied by dust |
| Superhuman strength, lift cars and save little kids' lives |
| Like Ol' Dirty Bastard in his prime I’m a |
| Menace to a society that can not define me |
| I’m so high right now I can’t even define what high means |
| Haha, I feel I have a greater purpose though |
| Spit that purple dro, murder flow like the Kurtis Blow |
| Gun warm in my palm although my arm’s cold |
| What awaits me in the beyond, only God knows |
| Anton LaVey had a pet lion, I’ma get rich or dead trying |
| On them projects steps with the sket iron |
| Ops get rocked and robbed, to the mouth of God |
| Pop the fuck off like Al Shabaab |
| My killers ugly like Joe Cocker |
| 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 |
| I’m Father Yod with the hang glider |
| With fourteen wives battle for whose pussy tighter |
| I’m like Sbarro’s in '86, Camaros, cable links your pharaos |
| Trigger finger, styrofoam or potato barrels |
| Age of steel, Tatum O’Neal, sleeves and gumdrops |
| Hustle anything that alter, PCP or crush rock |
| Triple pack, Mackenzie Phillips, basement kin |
| If you worked for it, no need to hit it, makin' a sale |
| I’m like Brando on Letterman, I cop Denali off elephants |
| From cellophane to tenaments to heavy developments |
| Glenwood fortunes, what about jumping out refrigerators |
| Deep cook, he slip a body up in the incinerator |
| Coughin' syrup we drinkin', bone fragments and trinkets |
| I don’t have to kill 'cause I think it, Charlie with Mayas and Incas |
| The kind of Hulk, get this torch from the face of carnage |
| Like Amber Lynn hooked on meth >❓❓❓❓❓❓<, they ain’t sharp as bombers |
| My killers ugly like Joe Cocker |
| 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 |
| I’m Father Yod with the hang glider |
| With fourteen wives battle for whose pussy tighter |