| These lines are sharp, hollow head’ll splatter your abdomen
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| You sick to your stomach, wondering what is happening
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| Marksman specialist to keep your regiment vanishing
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| Full metal jacket devious when it’s crashing in
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| Platinum metal this,
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| 151 rolled up, we keep 'em panicking
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| You in the wrong district, claiming you all misfit
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| You never toss biscuits, you with the Lord, snitching
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| I say you all bitching, you up in God’s kitchen
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| Big flame, burn off your face then leave the balls dripping
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| You all squad victim, up in the dark prison
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| And you done lost vision, I’m at the bar drinking
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| You ain’t at all spitting close to curtain
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| This is Illadelph to Rock City
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| Death is certain
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| You know we rock this, yeah we got this
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| From Illadelph to Rock City with the hotness
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| You know it’s on and popping
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| Once we get to popping
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| We air 'em out, no doubt
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| Kwest get to chopping
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| Outerspace, these corny muthafuckas puttin' pop singles that sound like
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| 5'9″, guarantee solid no man could put a dent in this
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| It’s Planetary baby, dog I’m outrageous
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| My status: the baddest, every time I’m blessing the stages
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| My blood is the ink, caressing the pages
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| We gon' do it 'til the world say «OS is the greatest»
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| I take time out, I’m obscene, I got dreams
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| Efficient hot beams where the cops scheme
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| I’m too dangerous, I make a name for this
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| I guarantee you’ll be bleeding, don’t try to aim at this
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| I’m so nuts for the beat, ain’t no escaping this
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| I’m a demon, intoxicated, your favorite
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| I take steps towards Armageddon, armed with weapons
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| A few grenades and flash-bombs, call your henchmen
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| I’m a sniper targeting those who violate
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| I make music, my roots started the fire escapes
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| I see you lie at your weight and can’t help but laugh
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| It ain’t right, but dead bodies they get me gassed
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| You know we rock this, yeah we got this
|
| From Illadelph to Rock City with the hotness
|
| You know it’s on and popping
|
| Once we get to popping
|
| We air 'em out, no doubt
|
| Kwest get to chopping
|
| Outerspace, these corny muthafuckas puttin' pop singles that sound like
|
| Guarantee solid, no man could put a dent on this, 5'9″
|
| Yeah, nickle nigga, I’m up in the office
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| Chilling, giving orders nigga, I fuck with them bosses
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| Enough for this talking, if I ain’t here to be dying or lying it big
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| I retire a pioneer, but I do not slip off some hip hop shit
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| Big Glock and popping, it’s only with the hot hip
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| The white five with the pipe job
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| Looking like Guy coming from out of the smoke
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| With the Christ eyes
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| I ain’t no nice guy and I don’t like lies
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| I put my foot in your ass, now you a tripod
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| I handle my hands like mama swinging
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| I knock your ass into next week like a time machine and I
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| Got up with Preem, we pounding out somebody that’s mean
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| Y’all bowing down like I shot at a scene
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| Which y’all niggas can stay on y’all knees
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| We stay on our P’s, we write on our Q’s
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| Nigga, I prey when I squeeze
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| Outerspace, these corny muthafuckas puttin' pop singles that sound like
|
| Guarantee solid, no man could put a dent on this, 5'9″
|
| Outerspace, these corny muthafuckas puttin' pop singles that sound like
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| My advice: quit talking
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| Illadelph, Detroit |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Street Massacre , by - Outerspace. Song from the album Street Massacre (feat. Royce Da 5'9) (12"), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп