Текст песни UNKLE - Guns Blazing "Drums Of Death Part 1"

Psyence Fiction
Жанр: Rock / Trip-Hop
Исполнитель: UNKLE
Альбом: Psyence Fiction
Длительность: 05:02
Рейтинг: 3126
MP3: Скачать
Загрузил: snowjane08


Styles like Al Pacino Reno until the carcelino The mad dino with the cambino, the gambino Digger than Jim Colisemo More reservoir dogs than Tarantino Scales for Venezuela, Brown as Ni O Making the block hotter than Jalepe OS G. Luciano Be wettin' shit like piesce in 'Casino' Fifty dollar cigar seer The cosnia, the mafia Don P. like Garcia Drug Czar and the baby-Pah beater The M-8 behind the bar-freer The poughkenoughs, the panama skier Down with the parmesan Ready to comb like Vietnam with arms 'Cause the hollow-points and phenomenon The cheddar-spreader The killer with the gold Carretta N-Leader The sweater-letter with the hollow letter Drama-setter The patmeretta gettin' redder kids and mamma Shredder Infra-red clow off the armour better The godfather, the problem solver Coming through with the 6 shell revolver Hot as lava Guns skills that reel and in the 'ville I be the barber Gangster saga, the motha-fuckin' face carver Drums of death hold your breath Give you a dose of shit that's dope as soda The underworld family cosa-nostra Pearl-handle inside the shoulder-holster G. Luciano with a click but nothin' but N-S + Chicanos You get hit up like Castrelano italiano like crime familia N- don't get familiar Me and my goons might have to kill you Up in New York We play bloodsports at home court And hold down forts Soon as ya caught, get your dome torched G Rap and Dj Shadow leave your bone squashed Squeeze the chrome short, take no shorts We judge and jury in the home court Give you the clown corpse dead on the sidewalk Surrounded by mad pedefors Your whole frame laid in the white chalk You got the smoking section First-class tickets to resurrection Forever destined to a place where N-S never rest in Headed in hell's direction Lost at the crossroads and intersection Should've wore a vest for chest protection Slug fill you to capacity, someone at the dance Someone with the hand velocity of Butch Cassidy Bitch N- with the audacity to blaspheme me Got yourself caught in a motha-fuckin' tragedy Drums of death
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