Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Murderer , by - Styles of Beyond. Song from the album Reseda Beach, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 21.10.2012
Record label: Tokyo Sex Whale
Song language: English
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 |