Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Posse Cut , by - Swollen Members. Release date: 24.08.2009
Song language: English
Posse Cut |
| SMAS You already know: |
| You ain’t gotta a right to be talking outside of your mouth |
| You ain’t tight and shouldn’t utter a word |
| Your arts absolutely absurd |
| I’m precise and you can’t compare to me and shine dead right |
| Get ready to be turned you into food for fishes |
| And leave behind upset crying senior citizens |
| Crying on the shit again |
| Shotgun Charlemagne |
| The boss still open souled drink with a steady hand |
| It’s all free |
| No need for membership |
| Premium businessmen believe me it’s blacksmith |
| Talk smack and I’ll castrate you with a battle axe |
| Swell up your membrane |
| Then kick a battle rap |
| You lost your voice and |
| Come down with battleaxe |
| That ain’t real rap |
| You’re broke back with your saddle axe |
| SAS klack-klack-klack |
| Bodies in a black bag |
| Thinking about the punk rock shit like Black Flag |
| Operation Ivy with the poison in the ink well |
| Punchline screw your face up like a steak smell |
| Plots so funky |
| Got your nose runny like blow junkie |
| Blacksmith people never go hungry |
| Rappers flow so crummy |
| I get the sisters and the snow bunnies buyin' up the tickets |
| Give us your money |
| Oh for sure money |
| It’s the gentlemen |
| Charm rapping rotten pieces like an attack on Eminem |
| Star wars steady its a classic |
| Light up backward and then |
| Ash it before you pass it |
| You know how to hash get |
| On the side where the greener grass is |
| Gotta up on the shape glasses |
| Niggas get blasted |
| Handing out cash’s |
| And caskets gotta bake bread like the basket |
| Bastards! |
| Rappers can’t outlast the masters |
| Press it up and spin up the waxes |
| Put the needle on the plastic |
| Blacksmith |
| Roll another blunt for these actors |
| Cuz imma put fear in the factor |
| Clack ya |
| Agony! |
| Niggas gotta pay for the ecstasy |
| Especially when I cook it up with the cocaine |
| Battleaxe heavy |
| We stack Betty on rapid |
| So much coke on my track remind of Aspen |
| 2 white bitches they alkaseltzer and aspirin |
| Rolls rolls outlastin' |
| KC niggas slash and mister murder every tray |
| Not a rap democrat |
| More like rapublican |
| Rap rap como sta? |
| Money keep comin in |
| Only time I had my back was who had love for em |
| You ain’t no love for em |
| You ain’t no love for em |
| I’m running up and dumpin' em |
| Poppin' em and truckin' em |
| Only gets em mad |
| I’m younger than Donald Trumpin' em |
| Getting em made |
| In a sense ridiculous and not really stoppin' em |
| Basically from LA |
| We take game like really |
| Do a show and grab some hoes and take em to tele |
| Young Tre nice I’m the youngest in charge |
| Nigga violate our squad you meeting the law |
| Check my battleaxe |
| Just like a Wu-Tang sword |
| I run the blade against your throat like you was Harrison Ford |
| You girl got’em, worldwide |
| I’ve been to Paris on tour |
| From the Eifel tower my rifle power make you contort |
| This is a contact sport |
| No coaches or referees |
| Im hotter than Cali’s death valley bolders and bleach |
| My posse cut up I chop it up like I was a butcher and beef |
| Boondocks ain’t my boombox |
| Beats like a priest |