Bizzy Bone Murdah Lyrics

Murdah lyrics

[Bizzy Bone-Chorus]
Murdah is out of control/ Murdah just let it blow (It blow)/ Word up if you bucked a mothafucka down for taken ya dough (Taken ya dough...) nigga

[Bizzy Bone]
Know this liquor prolly killin my liver/ The villian is still in effect/ And I buck this motherfucker down, live and direct/ Hey, what I'ma chastise my
momma? Demand the respect, get up and strategize bitches cryin like they never wept/ Slept in the gutter with no tech, I'm still in the dungeon/ Bitch I
never left, pass that sticky icky ganja/ Creep on ah come up, I crept and I came/ Respect the dead game, remember ta let ya nuts hang, often, matter of
fact I'ma do mine all day/ I don't sniff coke, I like to make money/ Put the fiends in the room, who's hungry? Cut from the cloth they cut me black cherry
weed/ Cherokee Indians based in Cleveland, thuggin and thievin till I'm the last one breathin/ Only one believin is that Seventh Sign Saga/ Fresh and
remodeled, plush like Ramada now, holy like Ramadan, a momma's smile/ Capo, my nigga what/ Nigga execution always my guns is crippin cuz, P.B.D. posse/ I
roll with Rasu, Nina Ross, and Skails, Rhythm and Ghetto, Rosiah, 7th Sign murda em all, yep...

And like little Capo-Confuscious say "Nigga I'll kill for you."

[Chorus]

-Prince Rasu-
Be careful as fuck, baby, take precaution fo' sho'/ They say that nigga Gotti quiet , better fire off a Calico/ Bastard, I'm a animal/ My guradians was
avenues/ My Lord be my shepherd, but my swarms for collatoral/ Who can I trust? Where can I turn? When will it all end? I'm suited up in Timberland boots,
Regime marchin' God damnit I'm a grown man, its time to take my own stand/ Fuck the federations, my heart is racin' like grown mens/ Pumpin the anger
built up from years of stress, killers and haters surround me daily, no fears of death/ I hear the breaths of angels and demons fightin' over my soul/
Lord, just give me the path through this bloodbath and it's on, Lord/ Roll all haters, out my zone when it's goin' down/ Ride with the 7th Sign/ Violate,
we gone clown/ Four pounds be safe in the streets of the showdown/ Love to Gambino, you the chief, dog/This is my town, your town
{ From: http://www.elyrics.net/read/b/bizzy-bone-lyrics/murdah-lyrics.html }

[Chorus]

[Josiah Rasu]
Cock back and blast, knockin sparks up out they ass/ Makin marks come off that cast, nigga you know what it is, think I'm serious/ Then heart attack,
missles aimed straight at where the fuck your heart is at/ Fix cement or get hit, how hard is that, to comprehend, I'm tryin to be gone before them
souljahs come marchin in/ You blue suit wearin faggets with badges'll get the flux, I don't give a fuck who you are we can send this motherfucker up/
Crucifixion come quickly come and get me Mister Reeper/ I ain't scared to die/ I'm all like more than willin, the more the real the more that feel it, so
I'ma stay real until my heart stop/ My reflection with hoes, the essence of the hard-knock life/ I am the light, and if you miss us then u misses haven't
heard of murder/ Then you don't know of pain, my veins bleed the same blood of the motherfuckers who murdered my momma so I'm a natural born killa/ Than
I, there was no cap peelas

[Chorus]

[H.I.T.L.A.H. Capo-Confuscious]
Me and my Comptons' monster mashin' mobsters/ Analyzin' we done plottin'/ Plans in progress; Rap game held hostage/ Ransom, trillion dollars/ Low
tolerence/ Suspect; Armed and dangerous, violent tendency's/ The industry stick up, Kingpin Capo Regime/ Bend on your knees, duck tape and tied down,
follow my lead or everyone shot, bleed/ Squeeze round after round, empty shells hit ots the ground/ Told you we ain't fuckin' around/ Strictly about our
business on some gangsta shit, no bank account/ Money talks, greedy hogs walk the plank/ Negotiatin' our way, uh, forget the deal/ Your record labels'
sorry but your phony ass superstars carbon copied, indistiguished, no identity/ Raise up off these N-U-T's, cock suckin' nigga, please/ We ain't dealin'
with no Jerry Hellers, hell no/ Call us the money makers, pullin' capers/ Baby momma need that paper/ Get up off your ass, can't be no couch potato/ Only
gets greater later/ Better believe in playa haters, see

[Chorus]