Lyrics Gemini Lounge - Heavy Metal Kings, Vinnie Paz, Ill Bill

Gemini Lounge

«You ready to uh, go on a, on a, on a contract?»
«If the price is right.
I’ll talk to anybody.»
«Yeah?»
«Sure.»
«And you mean to tell me that your way is nice and clean, and nothing fucking
shows up?»
«No it may show my friend, but it’s — it’s not messy, it’s not as noisy,
it’s not ah… You know?»
«Yeah but how the fuck do you put it together like, you know what I’m saying?»
«Well there’s always a way.
There’s a will, there’s a way, my friend.»
Yeah, son sloppy off of Percocet
Last time I ran up on him he was like a nervous wreck
You the type to wear a turtleneck
I ain’t choked him out dog, his face ain’t even purple yet
Take him to the fire pit and watch how much burn he get
Trash-compact the body and compress him like a tourniquet
Motherfuckers jelly like the Four Tops «Bernadette»
Baptism of fire, these motherfuckers burn to death
Bingmonster got his commissary in his palms
The God speak like it’s commentary on the Psalms
Chopping of his legs and we burying his arms
Kaczynski in his prime cause I’m very into bombs
They loping around like this was his own fault
Polite before I kill I greet you a boned jaw
Why would I respond to someone who type soft?
My hitters waiting for you, they turning your lights off!
«Dismembering bodies, did that turn your stomach?»
«I remember having a pizza one day, while we were doing something like that.»
«Pizza in one hand… Chainsaw in the other?»
«No… I didn’t like chainsaws.
See, chainsaws are messy.
All you get is little.
.
All over me I’d have these little pieces of meat…
Now that’s a pain in a neck.»
While you wonder whether or not I exist
I’mma spray you in the eyes with a cyanide mist
It kinda smell like lime piff, you be lying stiff
Long time before them nines click
I rob banks with a Macbook
My uncle taught me age thirteen, how the crack cook
Ha!
That was my Brooklyn Bar Mitzvah
Where I grew up everybody popped pistols
Hide the nickel-plated Zippo with crack
Underneath the park bench in the potato chip bag
March of the S.O.D brutaler than Anthrax
Shooters in dad-caps, troopers in gas masks
Killing’s my business like Megadeth
Kill you with a couple of lines like a Frazetta sketch
I spit raps that resemble death
Septagram, a fish tanks full of severed heads
«Murderer?»
«Yes.»
«Drug dealer?»
«Yes.»
«Thug?»
«Yes.»
«Only fucking thing I don’t understand, don’t you use a fucking piece of iron
to get rid of these fucking people, you use this fucking… Cyanide?»
«Why be messy?
You do it nice and calm.
You put that stuff in the mist,
you spray it in somebody’s face… And they go to sleep.»
What’s in the black army jacket cause seizures
My project staying hot at night like upper Egypt
Run up on priestess, Tel-Aviv heaters and beepers
Obese like Ralphie May in the scare with street sweepers
Impaled features, Sean Penn is the lawyer
What we do to your face, like what the surgeons did to La Toya
Cats ploy for the cameras, stretched jeans and bandanas
Styrofoam over the barrels, deserts and sledgehammers
Captive of Sin rock a gauntlet like Hellhammer
Heavy metal said you active like Gilda Radner
We go to warfare caps at your gallbladder
I keep the Maccabees close just like a tour banner
Murderfest with Nocturno Culto
We wrap the body up in the sunburned Volvo
Disembowel these rappers in suits like Chaz Bono
Black Kronos up in the crib with eighty cholos
«While he was in the middle of conversation I shot him, uh, two or three times
in the head, I don’t know which one, and I spit on him.
It was nothing,
it was like I just played a baseball game cause I was a big baseball player.
And, uh, I had a cheeseburger, double cheese, I can tell you what I had,
coke and fries.»
«He says he actually enjoyed murdering one man so much, he wished he could do
it again.»