San La Muerte

Intro
Yeah – my mic sound good?
Yeah (rata-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta)
One-two, one-two
Yeah,(Raise the gates)
look, Yeah. (rata-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta)
Listen. Yeah
Verse 1
It’s node sub-optimal, so watch it when the Ruger spit
Record the homicide so I can watch how many views it get
**** the world, **** ‘em all, I’m tired of this music ****
The (gooma) gon’ move regardless of who producin’ it
You dumb if you don’t think that it’s a shot gon’ fly
I will cross your ****in’ T’s and I will dot that I
I will pop that nine, I will tighten the grip
You a sucka, you the type to take advice from a *****
He defied God so he had to get his name cursed
Armed to the teeth, carry metal like a change purse
Make a list of raw mother****ers: Put my name first
Every single line is by design to make ya brain hurt
High like a mother****er, I ain’t hit the ground yet
Dumpin’ till the whole clip empty like a sound check
Twenty plus years, Akhi, I ain’t lost a round yet
Kemetic Orthodoxy where the ritual was founded
Chorus
Nothing never is enough, everybody gettin’ touched
Mother****ers is runnin’ up on me
The drama don’t stop, get your whole block shot
All these shooters is runnin’ up on me
I got a big street sweeper, I’m the hood Grim Reaper
Mother****ers is dyin’ around me
My trigger finger stay itchin, we cookin’ in the kitchen
I ain’t ****in’ with nobody but me
Verse 2
So come hell or high water I’mma watch for the drop
I make this graveyard crowded like a popular spot
Nowadays it’s kinda hard to tell a cop from a ock
I’mma aim the chopper either way and pop who I pop
Listen, he a traitor so he left for the (hedge)
Screaming high-pitched, cryin’ like he Stephanie Mills
Ain’t no will or voice in this ****
Die now or die later, that’s the choice that you get
It’s moist and it’s wet, livin’ here is literally hell
Bodies stackin’ when I crack ‘em like the Liberty Bell
This dummy broke lookin’ at the bottom of the pipe
I’m comin’ with the heater like the bottom of the ninth
That’s ***** and that’s my life, wanna see me it’s nothin’
Just know that either way with me it’s gonna be a concussion
Body bags everywhere, machetes here to chop ‘em up
Put his body on ice, slap him like a hockey puck
Chorus
Nothing never is enough, everybody gettin’ touched
Mother****ers is runnin’ up on me
The drama don’t stop, get your whole block shot
All these shooters is runnin’ up on me
I got a big street sweeper, I’m the hood Grim Reaper
Mother****ers is dyin’ around me
My trigger finger stay itchin, we cookin’ in the kitchen
I ain’t ****in’ with nobody but me