Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Murder'ra , by - Z-Ro. Song from the album Power, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 07.09.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: World Tech
Song language: English
Murder'ra |
| Uh, the damn place made me crazy |
| I don’t care about nothing but my daddy my granny, my bitch and my babies |
| Everything else, is expendable |
| Find out that fake niggas, ain’t dependable |
| I don’t owe, you niggas shit bitch |
| Home light weight but my style great, now my pockets is the shit |
| Now it’s time, for expansion |
| Bought a nice house for parole, now I’m grind up building a mansion |
| I’m a rapper, and a game capper |
| Blue and red like a snapper, got a thang for them pussy ass jackers |
| That ain’t, no real hustle |
| Get some white gold or work it, and getting some real muscle bitch |
| If you want it, you can sho 'nuff get it |
| Made me bust your watermelon, come on down fuck with it |
| Everybody, ain’t no punk |
| I’m talking to you now boy, don’t make me go and pop the trunk biatch |
| Everyday, me keep it sucker free |
| Me not fuck with nobody, so why do them fuck with me |
| Don’t test me temper, make me have to watch me cool |
| Mack buyacka-buyacka, I didn’t wanna act a fool |
| But I’m a murderer, murderer |
| I’m a murderer, murderer |
| It’s Mr. Bossilinie, rolling up busting with real riders |
| Drop them b-b-bombs, like I’m up in Al Qida |
| Cause I’m a murderer, put it on you haters for real |
| Hit a nigga with the 4−5, get to dumping slugs all in his Caddy grill |
| Smoke chronic for my glaucoma, yeah I said glaucoma |
| I got a motherfucking Glock, and I put niggas in comas |
| Hit corners on 24's, waving hi at your hoes |
| With bald heads braids, perms and afros |
| I’m caked up like Duncan Hi, but I’m not your average do' boy |
| I autograph a slug, and put you on the flo' boy |
| It’s the Spiceberg Slim, Soprano Montana minds |
| I done been through the flames, walked through the motherfucking fire |
| They can never, put my flame out |
| And if I wasn’t high, I’d pull your motherfucking brains out murderer |
| Everyday I label my loot, leaving you ladies lonely |
| I don’t love pussy, I just love to murder these niggas when they walk up on me |
| Y’all don’t know me, some of y’all rappers think y’all know me |
| This nigga right here don’t give a fuck though, so I suggest you hoes step back |
| What I got in my pants is called a, that’s too big to fit in a holster gat |
| Straight from where niggas sell that mad crack, just ran him over crack |
| It ain’t no love in Missouri City, my partna I know it look nice |
| A 4−5 fuck around, hit a nigga you’ll get took twice |
| Might get beat up and robbed, or you might get beat up and shot |
| It all depend on what you riding in, and if it look like you got a lot or not |
| I use to think I’d have a future, playing basketball |
| But lately all I been doing, is putting people in caskets y’all |
| Am I sorry hell naw, if I sent him he was already on his way |
| When the grim reaper swing by, it’ll make you wish your ass was home today |
| Fuck with me I’ma hit up Spice, it ain’t a thang to tap the trigger twice |
| Brrr-click brr-click, they sideways into the next life |