| Before your mug turns, execution of slug perms
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| Thugs yearn for the status in money that drugs earn
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| Boys love searn, mission to stay above worms
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| For the bread, chicks stay on they knees like rug burns
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| We don’t tell jokes, better boat when ya smell smoke
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| We illiterate hustlers we can’t even spell broke
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| Youngstas sell dope and contribute to jail growth
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| Snitches tell folks who working ending up in twelve votes
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| Killas rush through, barricades that touch you
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| Bullets crush you and persecute before bust you
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| You’ll be sub-earthly, went to court and the judge search me
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| They don’t love mercy; |
| cops are racist and blood thirsty
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| They submit plans, hustlers get around like wristbands
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| You ain’t gotta pay a hit man seventy-six grand
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| In a big chance you better be slick with quick hands
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| And try’na never sell a stand by the fan where the ship lands
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| From the time the sunrise they devise no good
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| If you a G then I know I just described yo hood
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| If you not better watch where your drive or stand
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| Or mess around and make a wrong turn in the wicked land
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| When the war grows, more soul get foreclosed
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| Cats are hard nose; |
| killas stay armed like torsos
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| Cars blow, up in into spark modes of charcoal
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| Narks roll through and beat up youngsta’s on dark roads
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| Crammin try and grab thieves framing you finding scaps
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| Cadavers on slabs being an examined in crime labs (yeah)
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| And every picture the portraits a mad man
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| Torturous bad man with corpses in trash cans
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| Boy you Mr. Clean, plus you greener than Listerine
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| You ain’t live to see the wicked extremes the pistol brings
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| Houses fit for kings, bosses who have you kissing rings
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| Explicit things the victims be hoping that it’s a dream
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| But as sure as I’m rapping, this ain’t no tourist attraction
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| The impurest of actions crafted by hooded assassins
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| A mob target, they’ll spark it in his apartment
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| Wife and daughter get home they’ll be walking the red carpet
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| From the time the sunrise they devise no good
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| If you a G then I know I just described yo hood
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| If you not better watch where your drive or stand
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| Or mess around and make a wrong turn in the wicked land
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| We take hearts, and vacation in Saint Barts
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| Breaking bank faults, we so wicked we shank thoughts
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| See we fire straps, ammo try’na to frier cams
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| Iron claps on the crying rath wearing wire taps
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| Straight raw foes, high weapons inside clothes
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| Can’t describe those, three shots but five holes
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| Chasing pesos fools auction in they souls
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| Try’na make doe, we got judges on payrolls
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| Got the cerve famous, specializing in bird maintenance
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| We serve daily stellify ducking the surveillance
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| Pink shirt rippers, the enemy hersh flippers
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| Better work with us, tricks try’na converse strippers
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| Worldwide anthems, we too rugged to ride fathoms
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| Haters dying, cramping, killers hiding inside mansions
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| Then a slaughter move, you ain’t leaving you outta dude
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| Will expose the intestinal fortitude part of you, yeah
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| Yeah
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| Ya boy K-Rino
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| This goes out to every ghetto every hood in the world
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| Shoutout to my homie the Re-Up Entertainment
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| Third Ward
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| Erowid Homes
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| Shoutout to the Brick Boyz, South Park, Fifth Ward
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| Vice Lords, G’s, B’s & C’s, the VA’s
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| Canna Court, Sterling Wood, Southeast |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Wicked Land , by - K Rino. Song from the album Annihilation of the Evil Machine, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп