Post by Lunar Knite on Oct 26, 2010 22:30:45 GMT -5
Flock to me my pretty little blackbirds
A glock’ll make a murder out of these words
These carrion birds carrying on words
Like worms from the earth, worthless.
Annoyance at their caw-caw-cawing
Thinkin’ they’re ballin’ but they’re balding
Worse than a middle-aged eagle
On the freeway, wishing it was his way
Wondering when it’d be his day,
But at the toll, he still gotta pay.
Cause these crows pray on the weak,
A new ho every week, but they’re beat.
There’s no safe haven from my heat.
They tweeting like a raven, “Never more!
Never more I’ll say that I’m street!”
You'll find a home with no lights, down that dark road.
Crows without flight in my frightful abode.
Running scared? Yeah, you better be!
Cause this is 1-2-3 Murder Street. R.I.P.
Don't be afraid, son, you're not alone.
Dem bones, dem bones coming up from the ground
Your head'll turn right round, right round.
Double take. Fast break, head for a basketball,
here's a keepsake, Laker's championship ring.
Got me thinking I'm a king,
controlling The Thing from outta the swamp,
The Meadowlands, Jersey. Not the shore,
I'm sure. Don't want them whores in my town.
Zombies on the prowl, hungry for some head,
a loaf of bread dipped in some brains,
a feeling of dread throughout their veins.
Iced like sleet, realizing they on the corner of
Main and Murder Street.
You'll find a home with no lights, down that dark road.
Crows without flight in my frightful abode.
Running scared? Yeah, you better be!
Cause this is 1-2-3 Murder Street. R.I.P.
A murder of ravens murdered in cold blood,
Dirt turning to red mud on the spot, shot
cause they were plottin' to overthrow me,
now they rottin' right below me.
Their hoes turning tricks into treats,
but it ain't Halloween just yet.
Take your pick: bag full of candy,
bottle of brandy. Little blackbirdie,
it's time for you to sing your song.
"Tweet tweet tweet." No, that's fucking wrong!
Your color ain't blue, get it through your mind
before you find yourself lost in my fatal rhymes.
You'll find a home with no lights, down that dark road.
Crows without flight in my frightful abode.
Running scared? Yeah, you better be!
Cause this is 1-2-3 Murder Street. R.I.P.
A glock’ll make a murder out of these words
These carrion birds carrying on words
Like worms from the earth, worthless.
Annoyance at their caw-caw-cawing
Thinkin’ they’re ballin’ but they’re balding
Worse than a middle-aged eagle
On the freeway, wishing it was his way
Wondering when it’d be his day,
But at the toll, he still gotta pay.
Cause these crows pray on the weak,
A new ho every week, but they’re beat.
There’s no safe haven from my heat.
They tweeting like a raven, “Never more!
Never more I’ll say that I’m street!”
You'll find a home with no lights, down that dark road.
Crows without flight in my frightful abode.
Running scared? Yeah, you better be!
Cause this is 1-2-3 Murder Street. R.I.P.
Don't be afraid, son, you're not alone.
Dem bones, dem bones coming up from the ground
Your head'll turn right round, right round.
Double take. Fast break, head for a basketball,
here's a keepsake, Laker's championship ring.
Got me thinking I'm a king,
controlling The Thing from outta the swamp,
The Meadowlands, Jersey. Not the shore,
I'm sure. Don't want them whores in my town.
Zombies on the prowl, hungry for some head,
a loaf of bread dipped in some brains,
a feeling of dread throughout their veins.
Iced like sleet, realizing they on the corner of
Main and Murder Street.
You'll find a home with no lights, down that dark road.
Crows without flight in my frightful abode.
Running scared? Yeah, you better be!
Cause this is 1-2-3 Murder Street. R.I.P.
A murder of ravens murdered in cold blood,
Dirt turning to red mud on the spot, shot
cause they were plottin' to overthrow me,
now they rottin' right below me.
Their hoes turning tricks into treats,
but it ain't Halloween just yet.
Take your pick: bag full of candy,
bottle of brandy. Little blackbirdie,
it's time for you to sing your song.
"Tweet tweet tweet." No, that's fucking wrong!
Your color ain't blue, get it through your mind
before you find yourself lost in my fatal rhymes.
You'll find a home with no lights, down that dark road.
Crows without flight in my frightful abode.
Running scared? Yeah, you better be!
Cause this is 1-2-3 Murder Street. R.I.P.
