| H, Living on the dark streets get your throat slit
|
| Eyes open, nigga better stay focus
|
| Got my wolves in here, that kush in the air
|
| Make you disappear like Hokus Pokus
|
| We’ll never play fair, give a fuck who care
|
| You heir to the throne, get aired on the throne
|
| Muthafucka, I’m Damien’s Omen
|
| Ready and willing, my pen is seated on penicillin
|
| Drilling or filling feelings, or pin it and then I kill it
|
| Concealing, my pen is killing
|
| The villain that’s hitting, drill 'em
|
| I’m chilling, able to make a million while your blood is spilling
|
| Yelling laws, killing series like a holocaust, watch a baller
|
| Catching fire like a Molotov, y’all are falling off
|
| Met them out of my peak, Kid Fade, Psych Ward
|
| And we are playing for keeps
|
| So who am I?
|
| Johnny Richter from the West Side
|
| goes all day, zombie like all night
|
| 'Cause I might size you up then bite
|
| Fuck with me, I’ll rip your head out your windpipe
|
| You in the panic 'cause all I did was damage
|
| The reason why, fuck
|
| Kill a man for the kilogram
|
| Kill a man back from the front with a slug like a militant
|
| Feel a man nigga ran with a realer clan
|
| Still a hand mover nigga fat like the thriller dance
|
| Silverback you warm up like guerrilla plan
|
| Still a band filler I’m a champ 'n' you still a fan
|
| Pop a bottle in the club then we spill a grand
|
| Garry Coleman your fucking head with a skillet pan
|
| The titan that’s rising from the back of the morgue
|
| The barbarian created for war
|
| Witness the villainous minister boss
|
| Spit ridiculous, religious, sickening scriptures
|
| With every bit of resilience and twisted wicked voice
|
| Simple nobody holds candles to the syllable lord
|
| And the temple be careful that’s why the symbol of Hanukkah’s for
|
| Slap a whore dressed like Macklemore at a thrift store
|
| I’mma cut above how you niggas think like a lobotomy’s for
|
| Before I self-destruct where I stand today
|
| With a hand grenade and just pull the pin
|
| I’mma rant and rave, with a can of RAID
|
| For you cockroaches in this piss pool of sin
|
| This ghoulish grin and this mood I’m in
|
| These psych drugs went and got my head all heavy
|
| I had the worst verse in the first Underworld
|
| Fuck, I’m supposed to be dead already
|
| You know me well!
|
| Reel wolf!
|
| Bury you in the Underworld
|
| Psychedelic, Vicodin microphone villain
|
| Trife like a Rikers felon, I strike your cerebellum
|
| Nike acapella, compelling, incredible killing
|
| Audible, verbal, recordable murder. |
| homie I’m chilling
|
| Encyclopedia, psycho media, Expedia
|
| CD are greedier, music industry CPR
|
| Smack you like crack chemicals
|
| Pull out the gat and attack generals
|
| You’re whack, you lack genitals
|
| Victorious, impervious champion
|
| I am the streets my footprints stamped in
|
| Every rap that I pin, raw A1
|
| Spitting like a motherfucking M4A1
|
| Ruste Juxx my long range accurate
|
| Lyrical monster niggas scared to do a track with
|
| Break backs with the greatest of ease
|
| It’s Crown Heights nigga, triple OG’s
|
| Somebody tell this chick in the trunk to keep it down
|
| If them boys pull me over, I’m pulling them pieces out (BLOW)
|
| I thought I told you tell her: keep it down
|
| Dawg I did, man she cool
|
| Then why the fuck her hands and feet stickin' out?
|
| I’m trippin', you don’t want to see this long-nose I’m grippin'
|
| Like Scottie Pippen, I tear through him and everybody’s pissin'
|
| Kuniva don’t be talkin' with snitches it’s not a comedy
|
| When I crack a nigga up and leave him in stitches
|
| Bitches
|
| The American drug lords and African raids
|
| North American greed, and Europeans relate
|
| Australia’s finances, Asia is hell bound
|
| With nuclear war and an Antarctican melt down
|
| A state of urgency so I’m proposing a call
|
| To stay focused on the good and the hope for us all
|
| Explored seven continents within eight of these bars
|
| Crawl out the Underworld and see how related these are
|
| Black mask like Jihadi John
|
| Wax like molly wong
|
| Rap’s Tommy Chong
|
| Burn sherm like Bob Marley’s bong
|
| Hit that bitch with a gnarly dong
|
| Pop off in her mouth like Mardi Gras
|
| Wipe my dick off on her mother’s couch, sorry mom
|
| Fucking party on
|
| Hung like Donkey Kong
|
| And in control like Marley Marl
|
| Exploding cult leader
|
| Make that bitch gargle and swallow
|
| Then burp up a whole liter
|
| Extort your team nigga
|
| Beef in the street with the pork and beans nigga
|
| Swine on your mind, divine on my grind
|
| No time to recline I’m trying to get mine
|
| I get it while the gettin' is good
|
| I’m good at gettin' it God the shit in the hood
|
| Boy be shootin', loud shots noise pollution
|
| I’m real, I don’t build, I destroy your movement |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Underworld 2, artist - Reel Wolf. Album song The Underworld 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп