Lyrics Drum Murder PT 2 (feat. Horseshoe Gang) - Crooked I

Sex, Money & Hip Hop
Drum Murder C.O.B vs. Everybody
Demetrius
Ayo, The Yakuza and Mafia done posse'd up
And nigga the 5 of us are the cryptographers for the hip hop apocrypha
Diabolical autobiographers
All of us coughin' up coin cause we throwin' the cob up, you copy us?
Put you in a sarcophagus when I chop your esophagus
I'm an ominous optimist, I guess I'm Megatron in this bitch
We can play chicken while you in a tank, I had ya lifting weights at lunch time
Pumping on your brake
Find me in your place with your maid, humping on her face
Let her get a taste, while I lay puffing on a J
High as a hello, I keep an elbow right by my motherfucking side like my elbow
Hi nigga, hello
Rappers come meet Dracula
Daggerous teeth stabbin' ya
Drink half of ya plasma
My victim sink into deep sleep thinkin' that he's havin a
Dream wheezin' while breathin' like people with sleep apnea
Lucci the streets back me up
Literally the realest niggas behind us, while labels are giving niggas vaginas
A sex change, in exchange for a record deal, then dickin' with em smile
That try to kill niggas with kindness
I got a mental condition, my mental's condition to slip into
Mental conniption whenever spittin' this (?)
My spit was whipped in the kitchen, it's dope
Get you addicted, your ambition don't exist
Like bitches who strip for tuition
Yo, I'm a glitch in the system, my lyricism the kiss of death
I got a crystal clear method of rhymin', call it crystal meth
We can make a mixtape in six days and on the Sabbath day
You'll be resting in pieces when we dig graves
Liquid metal, metamorphosis
My fist'll shift shapes unto a sword or switch blade
Until some sort of switch blade
You was born bitch made, immaculate conception
This editors Edgar Allen with aggression, I grew up Po'
Ill kill yo soul before yo ass can get to heaven
Catch you at the cross roads is how we crash ya intersection
Speakin' of traffic accidents, Im finna be traffickin' and wreckin'
You get naked with faggots, you toss salads without dressin'
You ain't (?) with our blessin'
It's the Vatican, you COB traitors and haters done made a Darth Vader out of an Anakin
They panickin, they stiff as a mannequin
Just make a move and become a man again but I still peel yo head quicker than Anderson
I sit and concoct, the wickedest plots
Sinister thoughts, grinnin a lot
Grippin my Glock, lickin my chops
Play garbageman and trash talk, get scratched off
This black hawk will make you back off or blow ya back off
I blast off, nigga don't pass the hookah
Pass me the Ruger, it's a wrap like pashmina
You the past, meet the future
I'm past mean, I'm Kruger
Toss ya off the roof, I'll Pac's last scene in Juice ya