Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song High Tension, artist - Necro. Album song Once Upon a Crime, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 04.10.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Psycho+Logical
Song language: English
High Tension |
My ratchet exhales lead, cleaving, my hatchet’s leaving a trail of red |
Catching cerebrum from a detached female head |
Apache walking through the cornfield, I was born real |
Wielding a morning star, You’re left torn and peeled on the floor, kneeled |
Cold aggressor, buck the 3 pound off at you like Roth in Little Odessa |
Guillotine your crown off with a clothes dresser |
The Hades gatekeeper, Hatebreeder, breaking your face |
I’m blatantly crazier, straigh razor your trachea |
Pulp plops on your shirt, bloody red polka dots |
The unfed vulture plots murder, dead your folks while you watch |
Assasinated with acid, fascinated with drilling |
Lacerated you bastard, masturbated to killing |
Your fucking life X’d out, flexin' axe like Dexter |
Slash you with Plexiglas, black bury you like a texter |
Fuck what you’re selling, you’ll get bucked in your melon |
Metall pellets stuck in your cerebellum, once you’re abducted like Helen! |
Cut your head off, bust the lead off, now get off |
The dick money, you don’t know me, keep it moving homie |
The Godfathers' henchmen are drenched in your blood, did I mention? |
When G and Nec in the room, it’s High Tension! |
Killer team, guillotines and gallows |
40 caliber, loaded with Calicos, on barrel and mallet mode |
Calluses of malice grow, Molotov bottle your ballad flow |
Death on a pale horse, the gallop slow |
Blade of my Excalibur glow like William Wallace |
Send your body off to med school for brilliant scholars |
We bout to stab 'em with 7 daggers like Damien |
Triple sixes when 3 biscuits empty out in your cranium |
Dark clouds and rainy wind, we aiming these 10's |
On dames and they men, leave 'em with flaming skin on they dainty limbs |
Front line gunners, we dump 9's in the fronters |
Son of Sam handguns, the grunt mind of a hunter |
Son, we Leatherface butchers in bloody aprons, blood he craving |
Muddy beige Timbs, put a rusty blade in that slut he chasing |
Tool shed tools, embedded inside her dude’s head |
No Vital Signs, this be the title up in the news spread |