Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Maradona, artist - The Underachievers. Album song Sings Maradona, in the genre ПопDate of issue: 24.10.2004
Record label: Banana Party
Song language: English
Maradona |
| Moshin' to nostalgic rock shit, I’m Brock bitch |
| Semi-automatic might blast like Team Rocket |
| Wait, and tell 'em I’m mixing that Slayer with that 2Pac shit |
| One golden bullet to kill all that faggot pop shit |
| Delivery, I’m the bullet that killed Kennedy |
| Enemy, D.I.T.C., darkest symphony |
| Necro, fuck around and let the TEC blow |
| Red beam to his noggin make it look like techno |
| I told you, I don’t even wanna be the best, ho |
| I’m the threat with Tourette’s making motherfuckers John Doe |
| Ricky Rozay, Aquarius Killa The Keyser Soze |
| Making a family cry together like the O’Jays |
| Back in the old days, I’m the one that’s chosen |
| Thug from the 90's, I’m cryogenically frozen |
| Avenger, but yet I be the Joker and the Riddler |
| With a mindset that’s switched like Harvey Denture’s dent |
| The Dark Knight, fuck a Clark Kent |
| Martin Lawrence when he traveled back in time with suspense |
| Suspended, animation when my brain reacts |
| Don’t belong in this world like I’m Samurai Jack |
| Click Clack on the Glock, seventeen get me |
| Then put the Ghostface so we can empty the cream |
| Cash rules everything around me surrounding |
| The ditch where they dug the darkness that’s shrouding |
| Found me, Nemo, ego Kanyeezy |
| Bruh I’m from a city where niggas they con easy |
| Where they quick to pull that trigger, never a squeegee |
| Then make it on the late night news, nigga good evening |
| Ya Mike, things are quite here now at Miami, Carol City High School, |
| but earlier today was quite the scene when nearly the entire student body |
| walked out of the school to protest Trayvon Martin’s murder. |
| Signs in hand, chanting justice for Trayvon. |
| Now Trayvon actually went to school here at Carol City last year so some of |
| these kids actually knew him personally, |
| and they say his murderer should be behind bars |
| Moshin' to nostalgic rock shit, I’m Brock bitch |
| Semi-automatic might blast like Team Rocket |
| Wait, and tell 'em I’m mixing that Slayer with that 2Pac shit |
| One golden bullet to kill all that faggot pop shit |
| I’m Acid, fornicating with crack shit |
| Cheated with the virus that took over the life of Magic |
| Sharing a needle, with the common / hobo |
| Sterilize with the spit that shoots from a Komodo |
| Dragon, gun chuck, fire, I’m blasting |
| Dope and sick, that shit is just a classic |
| Huh, that’s a hit for you bastards |
| That’s the shit for you bastards |
| I’m lugubrious because I’m from a place where niggas |
| Shoot at shit and never on no Buddha shit, that knock-knock |
| And who is it? |
| Am I really losing it? |
| Maybe |
| Trapped in a white room with a dead baby |
| Am I going crazy? |
| Is my name Casey? |
| Anthony, then the baby turns into an amputee |
| God damn I’m really losing my mind |
| Or should I end it all just by grabbing a nine? |
| But, it’s too easy, Demonz of my mind leave me leave me |
| Put me into isolation so you wouldn’t see me |
| Free me from misery and un-easy |
| Pain, emotions from the crypt I gain |
| Yet another young brain slain, mane… Dang! |
| He just lost consciousness |
| That’s life when you live without consequence |
| Death over sixteen shots, his head is split |
| Dead |