Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Killers On The Payroll 2001, artist - Yukmouth. Album song 18k - The Golden Era: Deluxe Edition, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 04.11.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Smoke-A-Lot
Song language: English
Killers On The Payroll 2001 |
I got some killers on the payroll, and they know |
When it’s time to handle business, nigga, lay low |
Money to double, still in the struggle, stuck to my hustle |
We all fight back like maniacs with broke knuckles |
It’s mo' trouble cause now we seein you niggas |
Paint a vivid-ass picture, Boss spittin the scriptures |
Nigga, I’m Bossi, Bosslin done turned to cash fiend |
I straight pop codeine and drink gasoline |
What what, I’m too sick for y’all |
Tatted with dragons till I fall, givin dick to y’all |
In this pitfall I’m on the grind for mine |
My people choose a life of crime, pistol-pushin with nines |
On the payroll, apply the pressure when we say so |
My troops turn wacko, shoot through your backdo' |
My life real, seen a man die slow |
And I still can’t sleep, sweatin bullets fo' sho' |
So don’t push me, Boss is one tough cookie |
My team Regime, pumpin them shots out a hooptie |
Who down to rock with the murder plot of a cop killer |
Drop niggas, spillin they brains, rollin with hot niggas |
Rot with a club to your face for tryin to rock with us |
Straight up, get razorblade-cut for fuckin with us |
Regime superiors, Max Ju spit rhymes, strip mine interior |
Rippin your shit imperial, kill niggas' material |
My whole crew ain’t fearin ya, Mad Max the High Priest |
I got some real killer muthafuckas behind me |
And I be obviously on top of things |
With the Regime I’m too clean, make it a murder scene |
Glocks and murder beam, niggas ain’t never heard of me |
Burnin em to the third degree, leavin niggas in the infirmary |
Wait for recoupin, still choosin your brain, stupid |
The Dragon recruited real niggas for thug music |
So peep game and next time you speak my name |
Be prepared for incoming from the heat of the flame |
Regime |
Regime Killer number one, I’m back up in this bitch with Yukmeez |
On the payroll so I spray those foes, make you get on your knees |
For the pesos Tech Ninna ??? |
great holes with these |
You stay yellin you’se a merely killer for the cheese, nigga please |
Awfully sick, he tryin to fuck, so off with his dick |
Can’t floss and he blitzed, molotow in his lips |
Tossin his dick in a box of chocolates and walk in his ship |
Talk to his bitch and whisper (he loved you) softer to kiss |
(He bows down) You get ??? |
N9ne ??? |
(We wild now) You wanna rewind mine, I’m prime time |
Qwest Records tryin to hold a nigga back |
So I ??? |
Saafir and tellin me ??? |
get his shit back |
Off with their heads, let them hang high |
Caught in their beds, let it ??? |
die |
Tech Neen, I’m a fiend for strings by Mike Dean |
For the green I damage spleens, then I scream «Regime!» |
Let’s take a out-of-town trip with a thousand crips |
With a thousand A.K.'s and a thousand clips |
No 50 Cent can come to Cali and rob nobody |
Cause gees catch and send his ass back a cold body |
Young guns’ll lay ya down regardless who you are |
Shit, we make a livin out of extortin you stars |
Robbin you for your jewelry, snatchin you out your cars |
Poverty’s a plague, I rob before I beg |
But you don’t expect me to score, times are hard |
You’re broke but you’re scared to steal and break a law |
You need not worry 'bout me, I live it raw |
A hustler with a cause, flippin paper, gotta ball |
I had to crawl before I walked but now I’m standin tall on em |
Lookin down on em, 'bout to drop my balls on em |
It’s time for platinum minin, military grindin |
Right when these suckers ??? |
start declinin |
Yuk threw me on part 2 |
Regime Brick City niggas mobbin when we come through |
Nigga, the Governor got it sowed up, spots get blowed up |
Funk Doc, Diesel Don, yo, them niggas even showed up |
As I rolled up, the nine Glock get load up |
For the hold-up, the new hundreds we fold up |
Confiscate drugs, niggas' mouths get taped up |
Kids get draped up and bitch up-slapped the make up |
Then I take up all clothes, jewels and paper |
You got 'cash money', but you don’t wanna run the safe, ha? |
Nigga, don’t play dumb, I’m steady gettin money from those that hold up |
Used to drink weed tea, now my shit robust |
Now hold up, car patrolled up |
It was 12 Outsidaz in a two-door Toyota |
We splatter brains over crack cocaine |
In the court we still came to pay Judge Mills Lane |
Nigga, it’s not a question |
My uzi weighs a ton, 'll have you undressin |
Like you was strippin down on Western |
Killers on the payroll, pockets stay swoll |
Hearts stay cold, that’s why we’s on payroll |
Regime Life, niggas |
Thug rituals |
Regime Life |
Thug Lord |
Regime Life, nigga |
Now where them toy soldiers at? |
There they go, right chea |
Get them bitches, kill them niggas, there they go, watch it |
Where them toy soldiers at? |
There they go, right chea |
Keep them bitches, kill them niggas, there they go, watch it |
Get that bitin-ass rapper, wanna-be actor |
Fake non-playin Basketball nigga that got dropped from the Raptors |
I spit in your face and slap ya, boy |
With a .38 kidnap ya, boy |
Ductape and wrap ya, boy |
??? |
and flash ya, boy |
Lascerate and trash ya, boy |
Mash ya, boy, I hate Master P like Pastor Troy |
Shame on that nigga for tryin to steal a name from a nigga |
Ice Cream Man put flames to a nigga |
I figured by now that nigga done been broke off some scrilla for stealin that |
shit |
But until then I’m killin that bitch |
All you got is Snoop Dogg and Mystikal in your click |
And all them other muthafuckas are like Mystikal-in your click |
You’re still in this shit, «Fuck Yuk, I ain’t feelin his shit' |
But fuck you too, you fell off and I’m still in this bitch |
Willing to rip the fuckin head off a villain that’s sick |
My raps burn like ghonorrhea, need penicillin to spit |
The Thug Lord, Ayatollah, fire the flame |
Rappers tired in the game, make em retire again |
Fuck gold, fuck platinum, nigga, I did that shit |
In '95 and '96, so what you did ain’t shit |
Niggas go triple platinum, nigga, do some amazin shit |
Some eyebrow-risin shit and quit hatin, ya bitch |
How the fuck you a mack when you beat down hoes? |
At videos give a bad-ass bitch a bloody nose |
Nigga, ??? |
put you on in '84 |
You was a crackhead in dirty-ass clothes with dopefiend flows |
Broke muthafucka out livin on skid row |
Nigga, you from L.A., you ain’t even from the Big O |
This year them bitch-ass niggas gon' get theirs |
You swingin from my balls, why you down there smell my dick hairs |
Ya bitch |
And Dru Down, the real Mack of the Year, ya bitch-ass nigga |
Longevity that, huh |
Bitch |
Regime Life, nigga |
Ya bitch! |