| Lyrics: | Masada
2000
[ verse 1 ]
My .44 calicol will silence y'all souls, masada
The
ghost of the most prolific writer
Upon my death bed in roast in fire
See my most
desires
Smell the smoke from my flesh as my ghost rise up
Hear the voices of 100
choirs
And angels looking down at my body attached to wires
Priest kissed by the widow
spider that spit saliva
I write for lifers and boxers at rikers
I write pain
Blue ink
replaced the blood in my veins
Thug in this game, flooded up rings
Cluttered up change,
quick to pop a slug in your brain
If you a killer, then slugs we exchange
We like the
mobsters, bullet shells and choppers
Cop cars and road blockers, they tryin to knock
us
Catch us duck behind the bitches, d's tryin to pop us
On cbs news while the world watch
us
[ chorus ]
I do this shit for my thugs
I do this shit for the chicks at the
club
I do this shit for the niggas that i love
I do this shit for the streets, cause a nigga
gotta eat, luv (2x)
[ verse 2 ]
I write theories that's motion pictures, y'all hear
me?
I spit it clearly to roast y'all niggas, feel me?
Gangster, life of a don my
icon
Sling on my right arm, rubber grip tight in my left arm
Body suited with teflon, it's
brooknam
Raise a eyebrow at the child, respectfully bow
Pay hommage, gold
studs in my garment
Hot slugs miss me cause i'm god-sent
If it hit me, it's god's
wish
No man taketh a life, i'm late in the night
Catch me in the hood shakin the
dice
Contemplatin a heist
Some say my team is satan's alike
Cartel, pop shells till our
heart fails
Brooknam, a.k.a. roswell
Clappin at the spaceship
Bitches with fake
tits
At |
