Homicide Hill Lyrics

[Fes Taylor:]
Killa Mac, what up?
Some niggaz crook back on the block, wolves clappin' them shots
Snitch niggaz rat to the cops, my cash crops
Make money grow from the trees, I blow on the D's
Try to lay Officer Brown down, Kase rest in peace (alright)
My niggaz stressed in the streets, wrestle with beasts
Nah, I don't talk shit, son, it's special to speak
Talk to him 'fore I put chalk to him
Preacher dab holy water on his head, put a cross to him
Lord forgive him cause we all sinners
While we livin' like slaves, eatin' pork dinners
I stick a fork in ya, yea, see if he done
Hard for him to breathe through his lung
Guns go boom like we beatin' the drums, nigga
Where I'm from, son, we eat in the slums, nigga
Walk in my shoes, please, you at the bottom like gum, nigga
Trigger 'pon cock, this ain't a robbery, nigga
Most of you could keep ya charm and ya watch

[Chorus: Fes Taylor]
It's a homicide, it ain't over 'til we ride
On these bitch-ass niggaz, you seen me glide, right?
Stay low, aim straight, all I got is my pride
Yellin' out "f**k that, somebody gotta die"

[Fes Taylor:]
It's like, death to anybody who fronted on me, you want it homey?
I play the corners broley, won't let the Lord control me
I run up in Sony, smack a few A&R's
Cause life is a gamble, I'm just playin' my cards
Niggaz better pray to God, that I don't spray ya squad
I'll song writer, murder MC's, my favorite job
The streets'll say he's hard
Hot 97'll say he ain't commercial enough so they ain't playin' our's
f**k it, I say some bars that'll make you quit ya day job
And f**k with the block, I'm tryin' to cook this cake large
'Fore the judge say "Officer, take charge"
That's why we don't cut niggaz, leavin' their face scarred
I lay niggaz, buck niggaz, all in ya face, God
Screamin' out "f**k niggaz" all in ya face, God
They listen to the way he spit "Damn, son, you murder it"
This is what I gotta do, the Staten Island's heard of it


[Fes Taylor:]
Black down, pull my hat down, I pull a gat now
That's when he cracked a smile, held up a child
My neighborhood's cracked out, son, some I'm handin' back South
So I took the cash route, did what you asked 'bout
Just put the M-A-S-H out, kinda like my last bout
Crashed mouth, son you ain't a man, you a half mouse
Rat-ass nigga, get snake, clear the grass out
Still throwin' stones, know you livin' in a glass house (alright)
Niggaz puttin' trash out, wonder why we lash out?
Seen the size of the barrel and damn near passed out
Teachers tell 'em class out, I'm a School of Hard Knocks graduate
With hammers like we rolled up in Battleships
Nah, this ain't a battle, bitch
Any type of embarrassment, resort to the old school avenue sticks
I'm talkin' milk boxes, not cereal, nigga
Don't make it in rap, I'd be a hip hop serial killa


[Outro: Fes Taylor]
Yo, yo, yo, that's my mothaf**kin' word, B
Yo, yo, this that get fresh shit right here, B
Y'all niggaz think, you see my niggaz on some f**kin'
All actuality fly shit, right?
We pretty happy
Don't got the f**kin' hammers and shit
I ain't mad, it's pretty, nigga
f**k y'all niggaz think, man?

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Record Label(s): 2015 Chambermusik Special Products

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