| Death before dishonor, still growin' like a farmer
|
| So-called soldiers walk around in glass armor
|
| I remain calm or run the point like Chalmers
|
| I can feel the ghost of the victims I plan to bomb on
|
| I plan to avoid the penitentiary, pencil these poetic memoirs
|
| Of a star trapped, thoughts tap, ADHD
|
| All that bipolar make me fall back
|
| What y’all lack I instill in pen skill, lyrical contact
|
| Yeah, dog, I got a bottle and a Prada model
|
| These cats wanna fist fight but I’m homicidal
|
| I can’t keep my mind swayed, all the drama I know
|
| And my cocaine is rockier than Colorado
|
| I got a single-shot Ruger, hopin' that I hit my mark
|
| The life of a shooter, my brain is like a fuckin' dart
|
| I been sippin' 40's in the park, duckin' from the narcs
|
| Bustin' from the heart, pussy, all the stars torn apart
|
| Aimed at those who oppose where my life’s headed
|
| On a futon, eatin' croutons with light lettuce
|
| On a cruise ship, stuntin' with my new chick
|
| She keep both hands on my dick like a pool stick
|
| She the coke holder and I ain’t talkin' soda
|
| 'Bout to run a train on the game, baby, bend it over
|
| Be my Henny coaster, ass stupid fat
|
| Couple shots of Henrock, no question what I do to that
|
| True to fact, Rugers blast steady on the block
|
| Henny on the rock, gimme-gimme plenty shit to talk
|
| Them are not really ready, I should have been killed already
|
| I would have been dead and buried in the very cemetery
|
| In Roxbury with every Tom, Harry and Jerry
|
| But I ain’t never worry for nothin', nobody is scary
|
| I came up the hard way, I earned what I have
|
| Caught the science of the violence and I learned all the math
|
| Carry gasoline tanks, I was burnin' my path
|
| Held a razor blade close, I’m determined to slash
|
| Fuck two porn bitches spittin' sperm in the bath
|
| Punch 'em both, but they weren’t into that
|
| I’m fuckin' with ya
|
| Taught to never testify, beef, we let them weapons fly
|
| Feel the hunger when I rap, you niggas look like shepherd’s pie
|
| Paralyzed by coke lines and methadone
|
| Shoot you in the chest, you should have never left your vest at home
|
| I left your heart and a part of boy in the water
|
| No love for these little heifers, we sendin' them all to slaughter
|
| Ain’t none offer to take care of your sons and daughters
|
| Regardless of niggas' profits you politickin' with prophets
|
| I done fucked with porn bitches too, sorry to reiterate
|
| Penetrate dinner plate interstate ridin' rhetoric head it
|
| Get all exes a slight, ex-wife bitch and moanin'
|
| Picturesque moment: Kali, Reks, and Slaine own it
|
| The modern version of hate I slaughter virgins escape
|
| The sort of version of fate you can’t record on a tape
|
| I’m an animal in the jungle, can’t cordon a ape
|
| I’m a lion defying a giant flying with capes
|
| I am firing weight, tight spiral when I’m wired and I’m
|
| Burning houses up while the fireman wait
|
| You exist in my nightmare, I can die in my sleep
|
| Buyin' an eighth, you gotta love me I am the great
|
| So get your white sheets, yellow tape, pistol poppin' set you straight
|
| Hit your head and hit your face then close your casket at your wake
|
| Hustlin' proper, guzzlin' vodka, no one can stop us
|
| We totin' choppers at helicopters, we fuckin' mobsters
|
| Put steak sauce on your tits and have a barbecue
|
| Bring your daughter, dude, I’m John Madden calling audibles
|
| I’m Charles Manson in the game how I slaughter crews
|
| Typhooned raps, spit a verse, make the water move |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Fuckery Hotel , by - Slaine. Song from the album The Boston Project, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп