Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Homicide, artist - Tony Yayo. Album song Thoughts Of A Predicate Felon, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: G Unit, Interscope
Song language: English
Homicide |
Turn me up in them fuckin headphones real quick man |
I’m feelin to body this track |
And body a nigga when I get the fuck outta here man |
Cocksucker this ain’t rap, check my rap sheets |
I feed you to the rats with peanut butter on yo' feet |
44 bulldog, get money hustle hard |
So the feds want my face on that damn number card |
I drag you in your elevator, hit the stop button |
So when I pop somethin they can’t fingerprint nothin |
I help you wit’cho bitch, I’m lovin your dame |
Shoot her ass and her heart, hit her jugular vein |
Niggas talk it they don’t live it, these niggas is butt |
Go through they projects and they jewels is tucked |
I’m in apartment 4B, wipin down the llama |
With two freaks kissin like, Britney and Madonna |
And you know how I ride when the beef is on |
Pull up, LA LA like Jamaican songs |
It’s a niiiiiiiine, it’s a nine |
There’s a clip in the nine, bullet in the clip |
Bullet in the chamber, round on the ground |
And that’s why homicide all around |
There’s a hole, there’s a hole |
There’s a hole in his head, hole in his leg |
Hole in his pants, holes everywhere |
And that’s why homicide all around |
There’s a body, there’s a body |
There’s a body in a drop, body in a lot |
Body uptown, body downtown |
And that’s why homicide all around |
I’m in that brand new Range; |
when I pull up kid |
I turn your brains into red concrete stains |
That’s the beauty of gruesome violence |
I’m loudmouth nigga but my Ruger silent |
Sun-up, sundown, my fishscale move |
And if a nigga wanna stop it he gon' be fish food |
Yeah Yayo rhyme but I murk a person |
And when your mind leave your body your spirit is soul searchin |
Gas your team, nigga I’mma blast your team |
I got plastic milk jugs full of gasoline |
Four-fours bark loud, you layin in heaven |
While your moms and your pops in deep clouds of depression |
I turn your head into pasta, and baked zuchinni |
Like that bitch did that rasta in «New Jack City» |
In broad daylight, you better think twice |
Or that thing on your hip nigga better spray right |
It’s a niiiiiiiine, it’s a nine |
There’s a clip in the nine, bullet in the clip |
Bullet in the chamber, round on the ground |
And that’s why homicide all around |
It’s a hole, it’s a hole |
It’s a hole in his head, hole in his leg |
Hole in his pants, holes everywhere |
And that’s why homicide all around |
It’s a body, it’s a body |
It’s a body in a drop, body on the block |
Body uptown, body downtown |
And that’s why homicide all around |
Feelin to fuckin kill somebody right now nigga, fuck! |
Got a SHITLOAD of guns right now nigga |
Homicide come around I’m gone nigga |
When you see them suits and ties |
You best to believe I did that to you nigga |
Matter of fact I didn’t do that to you |
Huh, c’mon man, shit is real man |
This is for them niggas — fuck yo listen lemme tell you somethin |
Don’t run up on no whip |
Just run up on a nigga and blow his fuckin brains out |
That’s what, that’s gangsta nigga — you hear me? |
Don’t fuckin run up on a whip and spray somethin |
Lemme see you, shoot a nigga brains out |
And stand there for two minutes, and then run, motherfucker! |