Print

(feat. Leatha Face) [Intro: Leatha Face] Get 'em... Supa freak, freak, freak, freak, freak Freak, freak, freak, freak [Leatha Face] So you wanna be the man with the gun in your hand The Son of Sam, expand shells, invades where you dwell The smell of rigger mortis, corpses, enforces That they become victim to homicide resources Minor league bosses, petty cash crimies Snatch your dime piece, leak where my mind speaks Short circuit the mini time piece, pretty nine squeak The echo travels the city night streets [U-God] Yeah, hit-hit new release, guaranteed to hit the streets Rhyme-rhyme all the time, never ever drop a dime Stop-stop doin' crime, first one to pop the nine Rave that I throw the shine, up your back then your spine Bad-bad, super bad, always first, never last Swift-swift, swifter blast, hit 'em with the iron fast Throw 'em in a body cast, sweat burnin' in the gas Set fire to the ash, smoked in his liver, grass Letras de canciones [Chorus x2: Leatha Face] Dirty, grimey, low down, shiesty Freaky, feisty, hood rat from the hood (Supa freak, freak, freak, freak, freak Freak, freak, freak, freak) [Leatha Face] Snap screen shots of the wild life chronicles Head spin similar to theme park roller coasters The solo holster straps, laser beam glocks Steamin' hot, blow your snot box, the hottest psyche particles Barbecue, flame boiled crooks, soap by the hooks Splash brain from the wild frame notebooks Son, you so shook, I murder your gimmick Take you to the climb, back to drop, vertical limit [U-God] Yeah, ball playin' girl lane, on the mic I'm rhyme sprayin' M.C. rock viciously, satisfaction guaranteed Or you get your money back, leave your girl, that's a wrap Hit spike like a bat, heel toe, now I tap Second round, second left, in your town, check it, check Cock the beretta back, where my money at? Smack off your funny hat, always come in super jive Lamp in the honey hive, man on the ziggy side [Chorus x2] [Leatha Face] Pop headphones, glide over metro domes, ride, enter the zone Open wide, head blown, hell fire, lead bone Self fly spread, chrome you're live by a man's dome Divine burns your skin tone, high with the trench stone Blood money leakin' out my pockets, complex, unidentified flyin' objects Comin' at you with 3D, scratch it with CD's That take a sharp head bangers, state of the art [U-God] Yo, dip to the dot, dot to the dip Make the fly girls wanna turn your hips Raps on the juggle, double up quick Bullets rip, I burn the whole clip Cause the long eyelids point to your lips To the walls I stick, with my Spiderman grip Fully action pump grip, jump swift Blow you the bitch, shorty, use and you miss [Chorus x4] From Letras Mania