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Yeah, when the devil come boy The devil devil gon' come come smiling Yo, what the fuck these niggas talking about, man? Yo R.A., love you brother, yeah Same script, who come up outta the fold for ya? Liveness, still outta control for ya We home team, we gon' roll for ya Marksmen, put 'em in a hole for ya Yeah, yeah, put 'em in a hole for ya Yeah, yeah, creep up on 'em slow for ya Long range, boom! Let it go for ya M.O.P., we put 'em in a hole for ya This official pistol gang, Philly where we bang at Pull up in the Bugatti and hit 'em where they hang at There was no consideration where them bullets rang at You was gettin' popped if you was hangin' where they slang at Rugged Man is always wildin' out, boy trippin' That's what you get for thinkin' you live like an audition Bullets coming out of the blue like they called Griffin Fuel injector, funeral director, the mortician Y'all better fall back or get jaws cracked All facts, I go to your skull, y'all softer than ballsacks Pause, but say my force is the Fourth Horsemen, I'm all that Letras de cancionesSplatter your organs, spread it on walls and call it a Rorschach Guess the image is a butterfly, my fist is lightning, rain and thunder I can snuff a guy and make him wish his mother died And break anatomy, chemically causing casualties Endlessly blow your brains out or shatter your memories The living god that is held at the highest regard With more sick entries than Whitney Houston's toxicology report Who got top chart position in an image that's tricking the children With a little litter that's some other bitter imbecile has written But I'm spittin' raw voodoo I saw through you like a woman in a wooden box And I'm a magician, give you a face peel Not the type you get from an aesthetician I stomp your skull 'til it breaks with an ice skate If y'all niggas is lit, then Chino's burned at the stake Same script, who come up outta the fold for ya? Liveness, still outta control for ya We home team, we gon' roll for ya Marksmen, put 'em in a hole for ya Yeah, yeah, put 'em in a hole for ya Yeah, yeah, creep up on 'em slow for ya Long range, boom! Let it go for ya M.O.P., we put 'em in a hole for ya Strap the fuck up, I just came out a coma You better buckle up, we running niggas over If I ain't throwin' shots, then I must've been sober You ain't smoking sticky-icky, one hit'll choke ya I'm sick with it, a mental patient psyche would admit it Where crimes get committed and niggas get drug addicted When niggas on Rikers be biddin', razors be getting spit in Cut his face up, now he need stitches I snatch purses, I piss in churches, I work the burners In Lucifer's furnace, sip the blood of a virgin out of a thermos I gun buck 'em, fuck a fist, the Razor Ruddock cut a wrist I cut 'em, gut 'em like a fish and let 'em lay in gutter piss The bats, gats, battle ax make a back collapse Slap a Democrat, pack a rat, smack crackers in MAGA hats I rewind the time, put you in a dumpster aborted I crush your skull into dust, chop it to powder and snort it Bran-Br-Br-Brand Nubian (Once again!) Br-Brand Nubian Punks jump up to get beat down I'll throw you in a fuckin' trunk with your feet bound Niggas want beef? Get your meat ground NYC, this not a sweet town Hear the crack of the bones and let the streets run red Have you shackled in your home with the gun to your head This is personal, it ain't shit about bread Reversible skull when I'm splittin' that head Same script, who come up outta the fold for ya? Liveness, still outta control for ya We home team, we gon' roll for ya Marksmen, put 'em in a hole for ya Yeah, yeah, put 'em in a hole for ya Yeah, yeah, creep up on 'em slow for ya Long range, boom! Let it go for ya M.O.P., we put 'em in a hole for ya Yeah, Iceberg, nigga The Rugged Man made the call, I'm here My niggas ain't Bloods, they straight Crippin' My niggas ain't cool, they set trippin' Thought it was a game, 'til you felt that hot lead My gats ain't semi, they belt fed Pop up at ya motherfuckin' crib like god damn Found out where you lived on your Instagram 25 cops at the crime scene My niggas crash your pad like a SEAL Team Burn motherfucker, one syllable Ice More whips than The Passion of Christ Blam-bong, blam-bong, blood lies and alibis Tell his mama reply before this turn into a homicide Nigga, ante up the ransom (Come on!) Tell that bitch to hurry up before I blam son (Cause we) Do it all day (We) do it the hard way (We) Do it the Brook-nam way, I'm talkin' broad day (We) We be the M.O. (M.O.) MO-Ps You already know my M.O. (M.O.) OGs Bong! From Letras Mania