| It’s not a possibility you could ever survive
|
| That’s just the logicality of the Devil inside
|
| Any ounce of goodness in me was never revived
|
| Disconnected or completely connected with God
|
| The hell-hound spellbound where destiny lie
|
| The bells sound, nailed down, the effigy cry
|
| A couple rappers want a beef they respectfully die
|
| They ended up losing they teeth, but I left them alive
|
| I crush a skull with one hand, the other a spine
|
| I snap a motherfucker head, he dead on the dime
|
| I carve a muh’fucker up like Geppetto with knives
|
| That’s the magic of the Persian and Arab design
|
| That’s the marriage of exertion, inertia defined
|
| That’s the savage that was perfectly nurtured in time
|
| I put pacifists in caskets, my version of crime
|
| I’m an assassin and my passion is bursting your mind
|
| God of the Serengeti
|
| Sirens and ambulances in the streets, there’s race riots and panthers
|
| And cops hosing down innocent bystanders
|
| Hand grenades and shanks, automatic bullets, pray to the banks
|
| Government emergency, military sending in tanks
|
| How did I get in this position?
|
| I’m sick of living Kevorkian vision
|
| And bridge jumping, razorblade wrists slitting
|
| In the car garage carbon monoxide sniffing
|
| Wine glass full of cyanide, sipping
|
| Russian roulette, the chamber’s spinning
|
| Death by my own manslaughter, I’m going out like Ernest Hemingway
|
| And his sister and his brother and his father and his granddaughter
|
| Society losing religion, there’s too much heat in Lucifer’s kitchen
|
| Never know if a politician’s speaking truth or fiction
|
| You spit with true conviction you’ll be the victim of a crucifixion
|
| The hangman will leave you from a noose swinging and ruin your mission
|
| Not every punk on the street is recruitable
|
| These snitches will start singing and turn the police precinct into a musical
|
| Most these thugs is snitching-ass cowards
|
| You ain’t nothing but somebody’s bitch in prison getting dick in the showers
|
| Too many sleeping on me like narcolepsy, my weapon arsenal is deadly
|
| I’m definitely an artist, they ain’t ever market it correctly
|
| Piss on the pavement in the public, jerk my dick on the Fox News
|
| Police piss me off, I’ll pull it out and piss on they cop shoes
|
| Come on
|
| G-O-D of the Serengeti
|
| You gonna turn this robbery to a homicide
|
| The Desert Eagle is lethal, evil personified
|
| Dominicans here take you for a dollar ride
|
| You want beef you gonna lose god stop his vibe
|
| I don’t respect life, pussy if you die, you die
|
| Most high, Rastafari, I and I
|
| I’m always gonna keep it gutter like a five and dime
|
| And when I die the prophecy gonna stay alive
|
| Yeah, and y’all should study all the things that’s written
|
| About the Roman Empire and the Kings of Britain
|
| Merlin exists and manuscripts have been forbidden
|
| And understand that King James is a piece of fiction
|
| My box game like Ant Tarver
|
| I’m no fool, I’m old school like my grandfather
|
| Ain’t nobody take my punch that can stand conscious
|
| Psychologically imbalanced, I’m a man’s conscience
|
| God of the Serengeti
|
| God of the Serengeti
|
| God of the Serengeti
|
| God of the Serengeti
|
| G-O-D of the Serengeti
|
| God of the Serengeti
|
| G-O-D of the Serengeti
|
| God of the Serengeti
|
| G-O-D of the Serengeti
|
| God of the Serengeti |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Razor Gloves , by - Vinnie Paz. Song from the album God of the Serengeti, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп