| The aggravator exacerbated immaculator
|
| And the mac he sprayed was mad layered a track slayer
|
| Sadat was on guard, with armour and bombs ready
|
| We stomped upon Freddie, and locked his arms steady
|
| Pull the cord placement, the rapper had a choice
|
| Grab the cash, stay mad hungry, lungin' at the boy
|
| Shunned the son after annointment
|
| The wondered rappers enjoyment
|
| The boy had lacked what his dad
|
| And his grandmamma his told him
|
| Grew up with the long shot, dark spotted hockey mask
|
| Shot off a Glock, mossberg, and a cocky stance
|
| Knockin' on doors. |
| Popped the wrong person, then he bounced
|
| Penny bounced on him
|
| The boy’s little sister
|
| Employed with the scripture, or a ultimate gun-bust
|
| Swarming, formin' his data that 'Fro was mostly an honor
|
| To meet Sadat and then knock off mobsters in the town
|
| Record a Murder Soundtrack in Will Tell’s basement
|
| It’s a murder soundtrack. |
| (soundtrack, soundtrack…)
|
| (I started it, now I’m gonna end it…)
|
| The bone rattling, gun-gattling crisis. |
| Fuck ISIS
|
| Robbery and heists (-es)
|
| I’m right here where the dice-is
|
| Have you buried where the mice is
|
| Listen my advice is:
|
| Afro to short hair
|
| We take sport here
|
| Don’t get caught here
|
| Beat Ill
|
| Tell Will
|
| Will Tell
|
| We’ll kill
|
| Break bread, fake dead, take lead, club med, rap head, scrap’s dead
|
| Start again
|
| Low cardigan
|
| Tell me what’s your part again
|
| I finally found the art again
|
| You finally found your heart again
|
| Fuck that, we all is in
|
| With Afro’s spray
|
| The young boy know all this, how he get that way?
|
| Why my hair turn grey?
|
| Burn your tax pay
|
| A chef like Bobby Flay
|
| They say «Daddy, you cray.»
|
| It’s a murder soundtrack. |
| (soundtrack, soundtrack…) |