Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Murder Made Easy, artist - Outlawz. Album song Ride Wit Us Or Collide Wit Us, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 28.09.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Outlaw Recordz
Song language: English
Murder Made Easy |
Outlaw, Outlaw |
Bring your mother fucking Jersey Mob |
In the name of Makaveli The Don, the killa motherfuckin Kadafi |
Everybody wanna know how I live my life (pucka) |
Where’s my balls? |
(pucka) |
Where’s my ice? |
No matter now I answer then, feel my stripes |
You keep poppin shit, I’ll pin my knights *dying* |
At your grow dega |
Smokin on your drow Flavor |
Spit some pimp shit |
Then dip with your old neighbor (come on) |
And if you really, feel some type of way about it |
Run up in your hood, then I’ll shoot my fuckin way about it |
This Jersey Mob, Outlaw, Akwylah |
To my crew selling coke clinkin' cock dollars |
We in the same game, eat the pain, maintain |
All the snitches wanna see us in chain gangs |
The hate for traitors, that’s all a cop thought of |
We live stool pigeons smokin in salt water *pigeon* |
Only my lord and our crew know what happened to him |
His family prayin 'cause one day they might back into him (uh-huh, uh-huh) |
With nothin to loose, I walk through clutchin my tools |
Ice-grill make you wanna say what’s fuckin with Smooth (yo, what’s fuckin |
with that nigga?) |
I’m sick of these crews, actin like they’ve been payin dues |
I put the heat to em, tell them niggaz kick off they shoes |
What would you do in the position when it’s us against you? |
That Teflon mother fucker, can your head take two? |
Shut the fuck up 'fore your luck’s up |
What you gonna do when your shit’s up |
Besides get dissed on nigga, and pistol-whipped up |
Tied up, mouth taped up, layed out, and hit up |
Leave you in pray, gotta give you a napkin to wipe that shit up |
After the fact, holdin in time, shit up for lit up |
High drilly and shit yeah nigga you know the mix-up |
We that squad for real, Jersey Mob for real |
It be kill or be killed, so we drawin that steel |
I’m lovin the rush, Essex county doublin us, fuckin with us (yeah, yeah, |
yeah) |
We ownin enough, them rollers is bust |
(Murder — repeated in background of chorus) |
Murder made easy for dummies |
Before you pull the trigger |
Hit his pockets, take all his money |
First you gotta be smart |
Check his race and his bag |
To see if he’s strapped |
And hit him once in the face |
And that’s that |
Well where you at then? |
When I needed you the most |
I hit rock bottom |
I couldn’t see that we was close |
Yo box, watch em |
Now they all Champaign |
Ballin campaign |
Yeah that nigga fall in the rain |
Dirty ya joints poppin like you greasy burger enflamed |
Every verse I drop’s another small piece of the pain |
Shit’ll never be the same |
After we got burned |
Niggaz is burnt out |
And yo there’s nowhere to turn |
Like court adjourned |
Without a quarter to burn |
Short of return |
To the same game in order to earn |
Y’all niggaz don’t learn |
I ain’t concerned by far |
Spit six bars like gem-star, stitches, and scars |
Niggaz dry snitchin, yo they intuition bizarre |
Picture me starved |
Without a partner, pitchin is hard |
Listen, my jaw, to find the right position tomorrow |
Is mission imposs? |
I be yellin really my eyes |
Niggaz kill me when they nod like they really alive |
You ain’t shit without your homeboys |
Y’all ain’t no grown boys |
I feel it all and no voice |
Now you stuck with no choice |
Get on the ground, give up your property |
It’s like monopoly |
With Jersey Mob this time, they’re ain’t a mother fucker stoppin me |
That’s why I pop three in my throat |
Wait for my shit to drop and it’s murder she wrote |
Forgot to pull it close |
And I got enough to go around for everybody challengin |
Guns, never silence, I’m still wildin like Allen |
And Mister Jeru, well it’s mob. |
all that deep shit |
You can keep it |