| Be careful who you talk to
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| The places that you walk through
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| You never know when somebody is creepin', tryin' to hawk you
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| Better grab your gat too
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| Cause niggas will attack you
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| And blast you, right behind your back
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| Cause the cash rules
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| Yo
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| Industry rule number four thousand and eighty:
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| Record execs are made shady for gravy
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| Protecting your neck can save you and save me
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| We step on the set, like fuck you, pay me
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| Give 'em a chance, and they’ll take food from your babies
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| And stress you out, to drive a grown nigga crazy
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| Now ain’t that crazy? |
| You ain’t kiddin', man
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| They run for cover when the shit really hit the fan
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| The snakes in the garden, pray on your downfall
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| Abondon shit, it’s hazardous, and they can drown y’all
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| Exploit your people with a image, they can clown y’all
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| The voice of evil in your ear, you hear the sound, y’all
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| Be careful who you talk to
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| The places that you walk through
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| You never know when somebody is creepin', tryin' to hawk you
|
| Better grab your gat too
|
| Cause niggas will attack you
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| And blast you, right behind your back
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| Cause the cash rules
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| Yo
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| Ain’t nothin' worse than a sheisty bitch
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| She’ll take cream in your credit, the ice and the whip
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| Your life and your kids, you’re flippin' your lid
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| Kicked out the crib
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| A baby on the way, you don’t know who’s it is
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| It might be yours, life on pause, nights on tour
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| You try to call the bitch, but she yappin' the jaw
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| You feel like smackin' the whore
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| She contacted the law
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| Like you never smacked her before
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| Why she actin' all raw?
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| Yo
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| Just to clarify, I’m Planetary, I terrify
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| Prepare to die, dawg, but never try
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| I am the next millenium rapper
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| Got you trembelin' after the shots blown from the stage
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| Every sentence I master, nigga
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| Toxeeded, Philly to Chi-Town town even panics at the ground bleeding
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| When they hear the sound of demons
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| I’m fiending this seed of blood dripping from heathens
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| The reason underground and mainstream had a meetin'
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| I’m lookin for liquor to drink away the pain
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| But when the store close I cut my wrist and drink it from the veins
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| That’s in me, Crypt, you you feel me?
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| A basket case, we take souls from their bodies, a blast of?? |
| plates?
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| On fire for real, and I retire my deal
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| It don’t matter, I still got wounds and I’m too tired to heal
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| Every rhyme is for real, and I’mma break these adams
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| I’ve been spittin' since ninety one, you can’t erase this passion
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| Yo
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| I see this niggas, think they big and they bad
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| Whylin' out in the club and?? |
| duck? |
| pissin' in bags
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| And I ain’t even got to use a clip or a mag
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| I use a twelve inch blade to split shit when I’m mad
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| Let you rot six days, 'til the stinkin' is bad
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| Let my pen print rage when it sinks in the pad, homie
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| So get it right, I’m a murder machine
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| Stampeded through the wilderness to murder your team
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| Cats bleedin' like I slit they wrist, burstin' their dreams
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| Guaranteeing you’ll be feelin' this, superb when I glean
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| I spit fire, homocidal, and there’s no reasoning
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| Get drunk, bury the needle, killing season is in
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| Headhunt, buryin' people in this steep full of sin
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| I’m leatherface with a chainsaw, splittin' your chin
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| So don’t approach me with no lame talk, as simple as grim
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| Unless you like to see your frame choke again and again, nigga
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| Now that’s what I’m talkin' about, man
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| Murder these motherfuckas, dawg
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| We outta this bitch, man, meet me at the motherfuckin' bar |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Raw Deal , by - Outerspace. Song from the album Blood And Ashes, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп