Jedi Mind Tricks - Merchant of War - Tekst piosenki, lyrics - teksciki.pl

02.06.2015

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Tekst piosenki
[Verse 1: Vinnie Paz] While you cuddlin' a harlot? I sleep with the four Official Pistol Gang, we be the reapers of war It doesn't mean that you welcome cause you kick in the door I'm the boss, why you filing grievances for? Graff writers use the thump out toys Keeping both eyes open for them jump-out boys I will body motherfuckers if they pump that noise Been down since Disco 3, become Fat Boys Let me fall back, let me take a sip at the bar Cause Vinnie in the hood like I'm fixing your car I'm the overlord, I don't need permission from y'all I get a migraine every time I listen to y'all Listen y'all ain't never live in abyss Where them hollow tip bullets spit quicker than Rittz The nine always concealed, I'm letting this bitch breathe Your body gonna be mistaken for Swiss cheese [Hook] The front and the back, what you want? Where you at? When my killers with the pistol grip pump on your lap Where the blunt? Where the gat? Where the funk? Where the strap? When my killers with the pistol grip pump on your lap [Verse 2: Vinnie Paz] This another hell storm, point blank mail bomb The ambulance take you away and not Calgon Dirt weed in a backpack full of Krylon Move rock for yards without seeing the pylon None of y'all could ever be on the level that I'm on Traveling trajectories with crystals made of ion Jeffrey Hunter need to find another place to die on I don't know what drugs y'all muhfuckers high on Whoever told you, you should do it, gave you bad advice I'mma put a few in you, then blast you in the afterlife You ain't even half as nice, bloodier than passion Christ You want a body? Give me a pen, a bottle and glass of ice I'mma do it my way, fish and edamame Chase a very fine glass of wine with a latté My music age well like it's related to Sadé Vinnie put a few shots into 'em like Bombay [Hook] The front and the back, what you want? Where you at? When my killers with the pistol grip pump on your lap Where the blunt? Where the gat? Where the funk? Where the strap? When my killers with the pistol grip pump on your lap
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