| We ride into town a half after sundown
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| Barge in saloons covered in scars and wounds
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| Speak in the harshest of tunes, play cards with the goons
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| Catch you cheating, blow your heart through the room
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| It’s the black Lee Van Cleef
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| If it’s beef we can do it in the streets where the quick hands meet
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| We settle vendettas, cocking on that lever on metal
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| With leather wet a Winchester, Beretta, let it put lead in your sweater
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| Whoever meddle with cheddar, y’all better dead and behead us
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| Too gutter clever, you read about us, we measuring feathers
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| That boy and that girl is Hansel and Gretel endeavours
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| The wild hooligans, six shooters spin for big moolah ends
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| And Slick Rick The Ruler gems
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| It’s kid stuff, my shit bust through your jewellers lens
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| With a few men that love to loot, feud and sin
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| Villain apparel, double barrel under cougar skin
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| Sick aim, one from the thing that’ll lose your brim
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| Second shot, your weapon drop but it bruise your skin
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| If it have to come to a third shot, homie that’s a earth plot
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| Guaranteed the squeeze be a murk shot
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| Make the bartender pour another round of drinks
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| Up in the brothel house, bitches walk around in pink
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| With trey-pounds, we make rounds around the bank
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| Time is right, broad daylight, couple of gauges
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| Teller clutching the wages, handkerchiefs cover the faces
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| Easy labor, sheriff in town got our mug on the papers
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| Dustin the Desert, boy, we dusted a dozen of haters
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| Crook Catastrophe that’s me
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| One life to live, Gunblast Kid make you look at the ratchet piece
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| Sunset, ride out of town on the horse carriage fleet
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| If you like to gamble I tell you I’m your man
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| You win some, lose some, it’s all the same to me
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| The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say
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| Dangerous with a gat, change the position how I clap
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| Buck you upside down like a bat, pop a slug through your hat
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| I’m like John Wayne, more like Wayne Gacy with broads
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| With my gun cocked, make you run it on more trains than Traci Lords
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| Bastard, it’s rob-a-dollar day
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| Faster than Doc Holliday in a draw, each shot I blast is quality
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| Llama revolvers, cook beef with crook creeps
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| The drama I’m involved in makes the O.K. |
| Corral look weak
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| Pistol under the table, in poker leave you disabled
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| Gun belt hang down to my dick, my peacemaker bang stables
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| At range wars like Shane, Oklahoma Kid
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| (Yee-hawl!) (Pop, pop!) Leave you in a coma, kid
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| Spurs on my boot cut your grill, you twirl gats and impress girls You’re cute
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| with your skill, but me, I shoot to kill
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| Rooting, tooting, looting, hollering, country jamboree
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| A bandit like Ike Clanton, I’ll clap you like a tambourine
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| Don’t get into shit with a thug, move on child
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| Your hot girlfriend’s tit is hit with a slug, it’s bullets gone wild
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| Disrespectful goons down with extortion of your pockets
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| I’ll protect your saloon for a portion of the profits
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| Retards get veins cut with shards of glass over a game of cards
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| While I sip Chardonnay with some dime broads
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| Cold Crush, gold rush bandits
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| Get rushed for your gold, blood rush from your holes when cannons blam, kid
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| If you like to gamble I tell you I’m your man
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| You win some, lose some, it’s all the same to me
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| The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Crook Catastrophe & The Gunblast Kid , by - Necro. Song from the album Once Upon a Crime, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп