Lyrics Riggs & Murtaugh - Action Bronson, Reks

Riggs & Murtaugh

Seven survivors sire, record was set afire
Jealous envious liars, paper, pencil supplied a
Tempo ammo and he handle any vandal vying
Against my tribe of scribers do or die writing for lifers
This is orange bearded Bronson magnet shorties think I’m Spanish
We never rocking sandals.
You see me copping pandas
The drums are heaven paired with lamb encrusted mustard sauce
I’m done with salmon every time they came the drugs were tossed
World revolves, cycles turn, psychos turn pill poppers
Suicidal wheel riders, skill harkers, architect the thought
Of dark to prosper Oscar for thespian talkers
Action and Reks equals bonkers bars— MFing monsters
Yes, sir.
Tantric positions with his wifey on the baby bed
Blatant disrespect
Root of evil on cassette
Eating seasonal and fresh.
Leaving semen on the chest
The young Morgan Freeman people skiing on the vest
Yeah.
Live from the bully pulpit—where we Geppetto, puppets
Your nose is growing hold you’ll be showing as soft as smut is
Without the pussy showing penetration generation renovation
Destroy, rebuild: innovation.
Ink a statement on your cranium
Painting steeples and stadiums, scrapings and shading them
Success colors I’m braving sun.
Faded lungs, polluted kidney
I’m due to kick the bucket young.
Fuck it— flung a finger, let ‘em all come
Got all women making plaster twisting naturals this is practice
Tempurpedic mattress, pussy like a catfish
She like it backwards.
Many passengers have passed through
She getting ran through quick wit slurping the cash in my grip whip
Got a sick clique known to nibble on a bitch tit
Hear the silence then a click click, no alliance peace to big vick
Word to science, only your salmon is a pink slit
And fuck the diamonds—slice up the cheeses with the string shit
Get your crucifixes ruthless lyrics from booth’s truest lyricists
Is this is vantage business bar business penny chasing channels face it
Fingers clink and it’s great.
Make men flinch;
look—
Slaves to my rhyme book— shook
Y’all Girl Scout cookie pushing talking crooked yellow spine rhyme
Mob of shook ones, how you find time to be pitching and be scripting
To be robbing and be jotting to be spitting and be plotting
Your two cents don’t make a dime