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