Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Gas Chamber, artist - Jon MurdockDate of issue: 03.11.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Gas Chamber |
| The Flying motherfucking Dutchmen |
| Vanderslice, Jon Murdock, Lex Starwind, yo |
| Bozos, bum MCs and assholes |
| Wanna park free, send 'em to jail, don’t pass go |
| Flow hot, jalapeño mean, Tabasco |
| Storm blocks, El Niño scene for cash blow |
| Lex Starwind breathes through tropical storm now |
| Nympho freak beats, poppin' a four pound |
| Barber on fleek street, choppin' your door down |
| George Jung, tongue uncut with the raw sound |
| You could catch me at a party, yo, spittin' sick audio |
| Fucking bitches in the back, exercise cardio |
| You never saw me though, bitches sippin' Cosmos |
| All work at Costco, suck me with they eyes closed |
| Indeed, if you want, you could call me for weed |
| Call me for anything you need, sell more speed that Keanu Reeves |
| Jon Murdock, PCP and the gravity bong |
| I could tell you that you nice, but that’d be wrong |
| Through strange days to dark days, I blaze with the lyrical |
| Take aim and part fades, deranged individual |
| Same shit that injure you, the same shit could kill ya |
| Real recognize real, I better look familiar |
| Beat break, body cast, shattered and bruised |
| Bet against L Star? |
| Bet the faggot’ll lose |
| Listen Vanderslice surgical incision, steady hands |
| Underground chief rocker, lord of the rings, fam |
| MC, Jon Murdock, FD |
| Chain snatch a rapper status off his neck and flee |
| Come to your show with it on, remember me? |
| Keep your new shit tucked low, it better be |
| Dutchmen soarin', neo-knocking, duck the warrant |
| Fucked with law and Peter, the guns enormous |
| Einhorn and Finkle, Finkle and Einhorn |
| Laces out, soccer style, kick it when the rhymes on |
| I’m looking for Ray Finkle |
| What do you know about Ray Finkle? |
| Soccer style kicker, graduated from Collier High June 1976 |
| Stetson University’s Honor Graduate Class of 1980 |
| Holds two NCAA Division I records |
| One for most points in a season, one for distance |
| Former nickname «the Mule» |
| The first and only pro athlete to ever come out of Collier County |
| And one hell of a model American |
| Sing a sad song, sour and deep |
| We’ll roll when Jakes on a stroll, steady pounding the beat |
| And you bear hugging blocks when you out on the street |
| Ain’t no slackin' on your rappin', keep them actions discrete |
| Shit, Rick the Model Martel, arrogance in your face |
| Back pocket wallet raped, assault and batter your safe |
| When your doors kicked quick, tripped up carrying weight |
| On the bus with white ratch, right back, right in they face |
| Right in they faces, pumpin' the gauges, Dutchmen and Dation |
| Still they both ill, for real, fuckin' amazin' |
| Get my Wang Chung on, buggin', clubbin' with Asians |
| Your RuPaul squad could never fuck with the flavors |
| Kanye bitch bad but bald like Sigourney Weaver |
| He got auto-tune corny fever with a horny diva |
| Fuck around, gun blast, leak forty liters |
| Buck the pound, run fast, teeter for your speakers |
| Tommy gun fun, Connie Chung news reportin' |
| Lohan program, Olsen twins snortin' |
| Shit, note hit harder than Rocky boxin' |
| Eighty mills of that Heath Ledger Oxycontin |
| Hit like Piston Honda, VTEC, my piston’s Honda |
| While out drunk and pissed in Hondas |
| Vanderslice chop Benihana’s, flip hibachi |
| Snitch niggas singing on mics, Liberace |
| Jon Hefner, rhyme diesel like Brock Lesnar |
| Smoking jacket, hold the ratchet, sucked in the Cessna |
| Your flows are average, choke a faggot, slumped on a stretcher |
| Coke’s a habit, smoke my pack and struck with the heckler |
| Emo, wacker than Shaq with a free throw |
| Wacker than Mr. Bentley dancing with CeeLo |
| Hip-Hop in flip-flops, I laugh at you people |
| Cats dying, lyrical strength is straight lethal |
| Mwahahahahaha! |
| It’s the real Flying Dutchman |
| You bet your lilly-white livers I’m the Flying Dutchman |
| And I’ll let ya in on a little secret; |
| I’m going to steal your soul |