Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Church, artist - Sean Price. Date of issue: 29.01.2007
Song language: English
Church |
| Big word halitosis, multiple scoliosis |
| Doctor Kill, giving the rap dosage |
| Postage stamped, signed, sealed, delivered |
| Distributed through out the hood, muthafucka, what’s good? |
| Exciting, unorthodox, biting, ought to stop fighting |
| Fuck it, now I’m forced to box |
| You got 22 tattoos, you 2Pac |
| You tattoo much, touch like 2Pac, dude, that sucks |
| Smack saliva, out the side of ya face, I ain’t trying to be rude |
| But dude, you fruit, so I gotta make grace, choir — |
| (Jesus Price has all the time) |
| Yeah, all praises due to the rhyme, ya’ll niggas is foul |
| Fuck it, Sean’ll shoot two from the line |
| Two for the nine, I leave lead in ya jaw and ya rock |
| These niggas ain’t ready for war, let 'em know |
| I told 'em, these rookies ain’t ready for retardation |
| In it’s realest form in rap, this street car racing |
| Rebellious, rederic, heat start blazing |
| After that, I seen Caucasians, in the streets all taping shit up |
| They could be trying to piece ya faces back together |
| You keep on playing, you hear? |
| Yeah, The Loudmouf Choir, luger lifting your name |
| The word-a-matician, magician, David Blaine on your chain |
| Oops upside your head, we smack you oops upside your head |
| You wearing suits and a towel on your head |
| And eating soup with the noodles and eggs |
| Oops upside your head, we smack you oops upside your head |
| You wearing suits and a towel on your head |
| And eating soup with the noodles and eggs |
| Ok, new word, respeckanize my gangstaforcation and g-dentials |
| You scared to fire, banging your face through ya Jeep window |
| Get ya window shot up, in a residential area |
| And left, fuck a ocean and sea-ment you |
| This time it’s the principality, punk |
| You a point to prove, put the pistol back, you’se a punk |
| Push your shit all the way off, a producer para-loser |
| Yeah, pussy, that’s you, chump |
| All that yackety yackety, your teeth, where the animals be |
| You get your ass beat, baddily, gradilly, P, Alkatraz |
| And the Beast Master, take a stab at me |
| See all kind of red dots on ya face like bad acne |
| Nappy piece to be praying for ya niggas |
| While I’m getting my vulture on, preying on ya’ll bitches, choir |
| (Ruck, Rock, Ruck N Roll, get you both on this collar hydro) |
| Yeah that’s how I got my Bronx bitch, she breakdance and bomb trains |
| The fifty pop blocker, while giving me bar bread |
| Asking you car banger, and she go all way |
| She gone, go where I say, she know where ya’ll stay, suckas |
| Yeah, ya’ll niggas 'ready to die', blast the sket |
| And then you realize, ain’t no fucking 'life after death' |
| Smash your chest with a fucking medicine ball |
| You think you nice, but I’m better than ya’ll |
| Listen, Tommy Tee on the beat, Loudmouf is the Choir |
| Heltah Skeltah on they job, and you fuckas is fired |
| The fire supplier, forget your squad |
| Nigga, I’m dope like the tits on Oz, get your nod off |
| Oops upside your head, we smack you oops upside your head |
| You wearing suits and a towel on your head |
| And eating soup with the noodles and eggs |
| Oops upside your head, we smack you oops upside your head |
| You wearing suits and a towel on your head |
| And eating soup with the noodles and eggs |