Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Raw Deal, artist - Outerspace. Album song Blood And Ashes, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 26.07.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
Raw Deal |
Be careful who you talk to |
The places that you walk through |
You never know when somebody is creepin', tryin' to hawk you |
Better grab your gat too |
Cause niggas will attack you |
And blast you, right behind your back |
Cause the cash rules |
Yo |
Industry rule number four thousand and eighty: |
Record execs are made shady for gravy |
Protecting your neck can save you and save me |
We step on the set, like fuck you, pay me |
Give 'em a chance, and they’ll take food from your babies |
And stress you out, to drive a grown nigga crazy |
Now ain’t that crazy? |
You ain’t kiddin', man |
They run for cover when the shit really hit the fan |
The snakes in the garden, pray on your downfall |
Abondon shit, it’s hazardous, and they can drown y’all |
Exploit your people with a image, they can clown y’all |
The voice of evil in your ear, you hear the sound, y’all |
Be careful who you talk to |
The places that you walk through |
You never know when somebody is creepin', tryin' to hawk you |
Better grab your gat too |
Cause niggas will attack you |
And blast you, right behind your back |
Cause the cash rules |
Yo |
Ain’t nothin' worse than a sheisty bitch |
She’ll take cream in your credit, the ice and the whip |
Your life and your kids, you’re flippin' your lid |
Kicked out the crib |
A baby on the way, you don’t know who’s it is |
It might be yours, life on pause, nights on tour |
You try to call the bitch, but she yappin' the jaw |
You feel like smackin' the whore |
She contacted the law |
Like you never smacked her before |
Why she actin' all raw? |
Yo |
Just to clarify, I’m Planetary, I terrify |
Prepare to die, dawg, but never try |
I am the next millenium rapper |
Got you trembelin' after the shots blown from the stage |
Every sentence I master, nigga |
Toxeeded, Philly to Chi-Town town even panics at the ground bleeding |
When they hear the sound of demons |
I’m fiending this seed of blood dripping from heathens |
The reason underground and mainstream had a meetin' |
I’m lookin for liquor to drink away the pain |
But when the store close I cut my wrist and drink it from the veins |
That’s in me, Crypt, you you feel me? |
A basket case, we take souls from their bodies, a blast of?? |
plates? |
On fire for real, and I retire my deal |
It don’t matter, I still got wounds and I’m too tired to heal |
Every rhyme is for real, and I’mma break these adams |
I’ve been spittin' since ninety one, you can’t erase this passion |
Yo |
I see this niggas, think they big and they bad |
Whylin' out in the club and?? |
duck? |
pissin' in bags |
And I ain’t even got to use a clip or a mag |
I use a twelve inch blade to split shit when I’m mad |
Let you rot six days, 'til the stinkin' is bad |
Let my pen print rage when it sinks in the pad, homie |
So get it right, I’m a murder machine |
Stampeded through the wilderness to murder your team |
Cats bleedin' like I slit they wrist, burstin' their dreams |
Guaranteeing you’ll be feelin' this, superb when I glean |
I spit fire, homocidal, and there’s no reasoning |
Get drunk, bury the needle, killing season is in |
Headhunt, buryin' people in this steep full of sin |
I’m leatherface with a chainsaw, splittin' your chin |
So don’t approach me with no lame talk, as simple as grim |
Unless you like to see your frame choke again and again, nigga |
Now that’s what I’m talkin' about, man |
Murder these motherfuckas, dawg |
We outta this bitch, man, meet me at the motherfuckin' bar |