Lyrics Murderer - Styles of Beyond

Murderer

«The evil genius!»
«Green Lantern»
Yeah, I keep the head for the trophy
You’re newly wed steppin' to the legend of Goldy
Never let it control me
My etiquette slowly
Slips through your defense while I’m checkin' the goalie
Wow
Meet the Ice Man
Face mask semblance driftin'
Nice gems, an extraordinary gentleman
Sweep the villa with petite guerrillas
Blades on my heels slicin' like Ichi The Killer
I’ve got 'em on now
Spit on my lime and then toast and tough
Rhythm and rhyme associates
Aww, humble a band, watch
Get socked with either hand
Tak, and we don’t knock in a CD of Sedans
So feel it
You know the streets is with it
Never reach the limit
I keep kickin' through your weak position
I plant a bomb in the Pentagon
Masses lovin' it
Count down for the Demigodz
Blast the mothership
Yeah
A new species
Your crew’s feces
You better get it right before I have to use these things
(gun cock) (BLAM!)
And I ain’t messin' around
The L.A. crown is mine now
Reppin' for Styles c’mon
Murderer
Stop frontin' cause you know you ain’t a
Murderer
Act willie but you really ain’t a
Murderer
Every city every town on the drilly we get down
Kinda gritty so they holler out
The animal Letigera
Cheetah cause I eat 'em up
Drunk off Tequila punk
You see the Margarita cup?
Face covered in blood
Say somethin' what’s up
I got a pump with a full paint bucket of slugs
One, two, three and to the fo'
Dead broke and drunk, we snuck up in the show
Security’s a punk so we punched him in the nose
Like we don’t give a fuck
Cause we’re from the west coast
I pray for my enemies sake we shake hands
Cause I ain’t got nothin' to lose but eight fans
You got a few bruises, bumps and breaks man
I hit him with a club like Captain Cave Man!
Who wanna get up in some shit with Chan?
Get your whole body sprayed like Mystic Tan
I’m Saturday Night Liver than a Chris Kattan
On the mic cause you’ll never make the witness stand
Cause I’m a
Straight outta mosh pit
Crazy motherfucker named Celph Titled
Spittin' evil recitals right out of Hell’s Bible
Wack album on the rack, they coppin' that trash
So I’m aimin' for the bull’s eye
On Target shopping bags
It’ll cost some cash for y’all to get outta this beef
I heard you can’t fight without readin' a tip sheet
No
You won’t get a deal with Def Jam
The only way you gettin' signed is makin' music for a deaf man
Yes man
Demigodz, thuggin' the movement
At your photo shoot
Leave your crew covered in bruises
Better get you some make up to cover them bruises
You don’t wanna be on your album cover covered with bruises
You beats is mad wack
Where the fuck you came from?
Makin' tracks usin' the same drums as Wang Chung
My whole crew is insane son
Real hip hop gangsters
We’ll drive by and tag graffiti with paint guns
We’ll launch missiles that’ll rip through your frame
And cause the FBI to form a search party for your fuckin' brains
Stop frontin' bro-ham
Or I’ll stick a carrot in your nose like motherfuckin' snowman