paroles de chanson Murder (feat. Shanga Goman, Wesley Rocco, ¡kylkenny!, Trip C & SpuckyJEEZ) - Wesley Rocco , Trip C , The Neverending Mixtape

What's up y'all, it's Trip C
You already know, this that Murder joint
We got Shanga on this bitch
We got Wesley on this bitch
We got Kenny muthafuckin' Kottonmouth on this bitch
Y'all ain't ready for this muthafuckin' shit man
This that NEM shit
You know what I'm talking about
This that Neverending Mixtape, you know what I mean
Shanga, go and tell these fools, man

Tired
I'm tired of y'all mistaking weakness out my kindness
Pushing for a piece of me like I won't get right to Kimbo slicing
When I aim a verse ain't no need to arrange a hearse
Man, why waste some dirt
I'll just erase your trace off the face of the earth
Matter can't be destroyed
I guess you don't matter to me
Empathic but on tracks it's EMPs and apathy
Anybody send a rap and that's practice to be a casualty
You know I'm that rapper that turn a beat to an active scene
Real knows real, that's not on me if you can't recognize
Picked up pens for calisthenics, these demons get exorcised
My modus operandi, how could I forget the plan
I see red, I black out
You don't want it with all these methods, man
I'm my only competition and even I'm having fits
Why'd my opposition wake up and choose to be masochist
Tapping on the gas, I'm matching anything they have equipped
Chalk one up for me, I raise the bar and you don't have a grip

Yeah, Shanga bodied that verse, man
But we only just getting started, baby
You know there's more heat coming
We got bars
All the way to Mars
Flying past the stars, bro
What a buzz
Shit
Rocco, get on this shit, man
Rocco, kill it
Rocco, kill it
Rocco
Aye, aye, aye

Deep inside the heart of Texas
That's where I be getting reckless
Creeping in that old school Lexus
Rapping to some classic Memphis
Punks and freaks they always follow
Want some dough but give them sorrow
I be seeking hoes like Rollo
Let them stay but gone tomorrow
Even though I'm not a player packing some of that major flavor
Still be getting greater later, repping trill and stacking paper
Though I can't be buying nothing
Hoes can get that super stuffing
Touching, licking, sucking, fucking
While I got that Al Green bumping
Tearing up hookers and whores
I be the lord fueled by the infamous roar
I am the realest b-boy
No need to toy, all of you will be destroyed
Murder and butcher your corpse
No remorse, send you to the morgue
Come fucking with my force and get torched
Lost within the void
Stitching up my foes in droves and scalping off their skin for clothes
That's just how the wicked roll
No devil can afford my soul
Mass graves, I'm insane
Bodies rotting where I lay
Clouded by the mystic haze
I slay the brave with grit and rage

Ladies and gentlemen, that was Wesley Rocco
And you're listening to Neverending Radio
Next up is the only man
Who records his verses from the sewers of East Texas
Ayo Kenny
What's the weather like over there

It's bout to be a hot fucking summer
You hear that funky drummer
357 bound to turn your name into a number
The sky is filled with thunder
We bout to take you under
So go and tell your muthafuckin' mother that you love her
My niggas ain't barring that, fuck no
You done made the wrong move, no charter back
Nigga you on a roll, well how bout we bowl
When I put three holes in your starter cap
Yeah hoe
Took a shine you ain't getting your quarter back
Muthafuckas said that he was clean
I put his punk ass in the dryer machine, at a laundromat
Ever come eye to eye with a devil
Tried to tell him you not on that level
In the chaos I revel
When I put the pedal to metal your ass is disheveled
Warriors come out to play
You niggas is soft as a petal engraved on Memorial Day
We off on a trip like we was takin dimethyl-tryptamine
Like Mr. Clean, we wipe his nose like an antihistamine
Wash his mouth out, Listerine
Smoke his ass like nicotine he history
He had to get touched
There's no better feeling than feeling that rush
Like I'm bout to bust, your heart ain't enough
I want your soul and then it'll satiate the bloodlust
Stew he the capo came in with the sickness
As Shanga will split you won't leave a witness
724 gone settle the score
And Wesley gon' come in to dig up them ditches
The dummy got murdered in three jurisdictions
They found him in Boogie Down, TX, and Memphis
He died from a slug in his face with no case
Because Kenny could never have love for no muthafuckin' bitches