Bad Hombres
Tuck the cannon in the low fabric
Slick Rick grills, 24 gold karats
The Kimber K6s is so savage
It blew his brains all
Over the ghost mattress
The Cartier vintage like ghost rabbit's
Man sent to Dennis Wilson crib, so lavish
We went up in his face with a stone hatchet
Southpaw, fight with the Left
Like old fascists
Throw shots from close angles
Have his body laid out like a snow angel
Apply pressure till they both strangled
Arms dealer sell biscuit's like Bojangles
Empty clips, give 'em my all small fry
I got choppers that are bigger than y'all
No small talk, money
Just the jux and be gone
I got shooters waitin' for you if
You look at me wrong muerte!
12 gauges were perfect for these kind
Of jobs, 'cause they were intimidating
They were
Big you know, rather than just a handgun
We'd kick down these doors and
Put the gun to their
Head and I'm just like, "Look, if
You don't give me my money
Then I'm gonna hurt
You" A lot of times I didn't even
Need the money i did it because
It just gave me this fucking euphoric
Feeling and I was addicted
Satan laughs as you eternally rot
Young Baloff with the burgundy snot
You get surgically shot
Drive-by you in a cloud of that purpley pot
Can you see with your Eyes Wide Shut
Certainly not
And we all gon' die someday, Slowly We Rot
Shooters might go get your funeral shot, ahk
So choose wise who you keep
Within the circle of trust
Tucked the schwammy in the gut
Tommy, hand me the blunt
Speed forth like Z york in the green orb
Swing swords, careen towards enemy hordes
Tear the face off my enemy's corpse
Mob through heavenly armed
The cause with these heavy
Metal songs and bars
Standing on a cliff harnessing the
Source of the Ark past the banana clip
Architects tortured in war
Eye patches on crisis actors
Unrecognizable accents on ISIS captains
Practice survival tactics
Cut around your face rip your scalp
Let it hang down rip your
Face off and they put a
Mirror, in front of you
So you can get a real good look at yourself
They cut your dick and your balls off
Medina Arafat, return to the martyr's dream
My squad gleams like October in
The arts of fiends
'Cause Tuddy cooked a whole corpse
Until the barren clean
Magazine melt your face away
It's guaranteed
Roy DeMeo was the butcher from Flatlands
Back of the garbage truck
We kill for pellets like Pac-Man
Elegant Lou Duva body parts in the cooler
Got shooters up in the crib smell
Like gauze and hot tuna
Diadoras, the fat tongues and
The yeshiva clapping break bread
Black Rabbi with the heater action
Def Leppard, pyromania, I torch and go
Rifle nut 40 aught, khakis and baby scorpio
Young friend it's Gore mortuary drape
Called Pazzy we burn the body raw
Till it was Frosted Flakes nikki Sixx
The black Corvette from Uncensored
Stomp your head out rock corpse paint
Like Jon from Dissection
One of my first acts will be
(sniff) to get all of the
Drug lords (sniff) all
Of the bad ones, we have some bad
Bad people (sniff) in this country that have
To go out
(sniff) We're going to get them out
We're going to (sniff) secure the border
(sniff) and once the border is secured
At a later date
(sniff) we'll make a determination
As to the rest
(sniff) But we have some bad (sniff)
Hombres (sniff) here and we are going to get 'em out (grunts and snorts)