Інформація про пісню На цій сторінці ви можете ознайомитися з текстом пісні Firing Squad, виконавця - K Rino. Пісня з альбому Intervention (The Big Seven #7), у жанрі Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Дата випуску: 14.11.2016
Лейбл звукозапису: SoSouth
Firing Squad |
Them killers I’m send ‘em, murder coming with ‘em |
Sixteen deadly venoms when I hit ‘em |
Twenty ni**as die when I loose-leaf and pen ‘em |
Spirits die too when I Bruce Lee and end ‘em |
My firing squad hard, ya ni**as we don’t |
Your body get burnt, charred, you’re screaming «Oh Lord» |
Hit ‘em with the cannon, they existed no more |
Nuclear bombs, no ceiling, no floors |
Body count more when the horror |
More than the, f*ck a folklore |
F*ck a front door, blood we want more |
Half the world dance 'til I want a encore |
You ni**as ain’t ready, my heavy |
Burst like confetti when I swing my machete |
Then I’ma let ‘em loose, a hundred mad yetis |
And level mo' sh*t than a New Orleans levee |
Everybody know my mind so gone |
It’s known every line so strong |
People wanna know why I grind so long |
Dammit, I’m a shooter with a blindfold on |
Tryna beef with me, these emcees ain’t even on my frequency |
SPC killers are increasingly more beastly |
Wannabe Gs wouldn’t last one week with me |
When I turn my mic on and shocked on it |
When I’m through speaking a beat, got knots on it |
I’m dropping soul pain, it’s hot in your brain |
I snatch your collarbone off like a gold chain |
I smoke lots of fellas like mozzarella |
Whether killin' a instrumental or it’s a cappella |
You’re not better plus your whole block is yellow |
By the way, his wife’s a widow, I forgot to tell her |
The things my pen do I teach in ten schools |
Harder than a drunk dude tryna do a spin move |
Every month, day, hour and minute I improve |
You brand new to having some hype, I been cool |
I’m starving and looking at you with a Ginsu |
But ten fools talking sh*t on a menu |
I set bombs off to explode in a venue |
And sick rhyme serial killers on kin too |
I destroy you on that pool table, teach you not to ever step |
I’m a legend in this game, only preceded by my rep |
I got style, I got skills, but that don’t even tell half the story |
Usually I’m not one to brag, those that know me do it for me |
Like a silent assassin, I just let my game talk |
Playing at a high level, way before I learned to walk |
If you gotta challenge me, you might as well just sell your soul |
Make that do what I want, just like I had a remote control |
People always asking, «How you learn to shoot that way?» |
I just make it look easy, but it ain’t easy, player, like Rapper K |
Really it’s just a gift from God, and if I’m gonna keep it real |
I have to say I learned from the best, RIP AC Chill |
SPC mo' still on the scene |
Chucky the Killer, murder one, come like sniper |
K-Rino, Ganksta N-I-P and their team |
That’s the firing squad, we got them F16s |
I f*ck with my team tough, I stay on the scene rough |
Kill a motherf*cker tryna call my bluff |
I’m too much to be touched, I splash his ab quick |
My heart won’t tip when I walk in this b*tch |
I’m not programmed for all that bullsh*t |
I shotty him quick and I call it quits |
With that lyrical venom, I’m about to hit ‘em and split ‘em |
Kill ‘em and get ‘em every time I step up and I deliver this flow |
You just don’t know, Chuck go and do that though |
Pull up on the scene, I’m in SPC mode |
And I rep that and by the G code I fire the stilo |
Line ‘em up, time to face it, firing squad — can’t escape it |
My culture — can’t erase it, my blackism — I embrace it |
I can’t fake it, I can’t let ‘em make it, I can’t let ‘em slide |
Lynch my brothers, rape my sisters, no, I can’t let that ride |
I got pride, I’m fired up, I’m wired, flames up in my eyes |
They be killing us in the street, some are sixteen, genocide |
Mr. Cap of the SPC squad, penalizing corruption |
Seventy-five rifles trained on ‘em, waiting for instructions |
Destruction in my wake, my spirit you can’t break |
My third eye awake, we marching the earthquake |
When the 50 KR break, every chain be loaded and cocked |
I’ll be there when the smoke clear, watch them all drop, ‘igga |
This gon' be a slaughterhouse, yeah I can see it now |
Your future in the palm of my hands, you ‘bout to die now |
Ain’t no retracting your infraction, it’s a cold case |
Put me in front of the judge, I got stone face |
Shells in my shotgun too, plus they |
Ni**as shooting out the back of the trunk, in moving cars |
You don’t want none of these problems, ni**a, I promise |
You gon' end up like the late Christopher Wallace |
You can take it up with the Lord, he oughta clear it out |
After I murder your flesh, I take your spirit out |
K called the firing squad and I’m the serg |
When B-1 get at Nard, then discharge |
Air them clowns, lay ‘em down |
Pioneer blazing, flaming crown |
The return of the felon, aiming rounds |
Devils get to running when the God’s in town |
A time to kill, graze the field |
The walking dead turn to talking heads |
I’m the risen son from the hidden one |
The forbidden gun come to end your run (good riddance) |
We are splitting like the Red Sea deadly |
Steadily on the grind, ancestors on my mind |
After dress ‘em one time, nothing lesser than a nine |
No pressure when I’m shooting off the rib ‘cause I’m snoozing |
Moving for the kill for real |
It’s the thrill of the kill that’ll seal the deal |
Grip the grain of the heat like a steering wheel |
Got your faith through Hades or The Pearly Gates, wait |
No mistake who you’re listening to |
It’s too late when death get to whistling through |
It’s too late when your face in that firing squad |
Your time is up, best believe we firing, God |
Meet the lord of the perfect |
Who want war with the force of that |
Breathe the verse and the earth will crack, I tell ya |
It gets no worse than that |
Warning:, this how I attack this track |
Murder One leaving suckers on they back |
When drama comes, I set it off, this Southside killer |
When I bust a round, you’ll gyrate on like a Jackson video Thriller |
I’m the wrong rasta man to be f*ckin' with |
I’m the wrong rasta man to be f*ckin' with |
I’m the wrong rasta man, you’ll have wife and kids |
And I’m the right motherf*cker that won’t let ya live |
Dangerous, notorious, loving every minute of it |
Inflicting pain, loved ones crying, soon they get over it |
It’s a dirty game, it’s a game that we all chose to play |
And you hear my heater whistle, when I start to spray |
what I really wanna be |
And if I’m gonna be a G with a key, break free from the scene |
Get away, got away clean |
With a Robitussin with a Sprite with a codeine got a ni**a on lean |
Back in the days I was rocking the braid |
Now these days it be rocking the fade with a piece and chain still gripping the |
grain |
Still but a damn thing change |
thug thing, gotta get paid |
Want twenty-twos just so I’ma sling some blades |
Gotta hit the lye, gotta break the off on the spot with a Cadillac Escalade |
Got a in the back, then back |
Two Tec twenty-twos in a black backpack |
Wanted countless stacks, you ni**as ‘bout to jack |
Y’all punk motherf*ckers ain’t f*ck with that |
Hit his ass for a knot to the fade with a cocaine rock to the fiends on the |
block |
Got 2014 like I say I win, double up again, ni**a, f*ck the cop |
Mashin' them h*es and I smash the gas |
Take two or three puffs, ni**a, dump the ash |
Let a ni**a know f*ck the motherf*ckin' po-po |
South Park ni**as ain’t scared to blast |
I was creeping in the streets when I got the message about some drive-away K |
I grabbed my forty-five, then bust a u, and texted I was on my way |
Thinking about how I’ma kill these fools |
And all the things that they mama would say |
When I Instagrammed they photo, put it on Facebook with his head slumped kinda |
this way |
We retaliate, my street coulda been |
I got beef, how you motherf*ckers' salad taste? |
Plus I’m, f*ck what he had to say |
Don’t reply to me, you jump fly with me |
Your hood status don’t apply to me |
Inside of me resides a beast |
Leaving a bloody trail of emcees as far as the eye can see |
With binocular vision, you will put yourself in a awkward position |
Them DBX is a top competition |
Beware the Coalition but y’all did not listen |
It’s not my intention if y’all to come up missing |
From your home or workplace |
Shouldn’t have f*cked with K-Rino in the first place |
Worse case scenario, you in a hearse face up |
Them DBX ready to bust |
So what I ain’t on a invite, still crash that b*tch at midnight |
What’s beef? Soon as you see his ass, it’s on site |
Respect is earned, not given, don’t cost nothin' to be a real ni**a |
Money don’t make you a gangsta, no matter who you surround yourself with |
When adjust your presence in the room, start gaining attention |
That’s when you work that motherf*cker, sh*t get interesting |
You get to see who’s who and what’s what |
Then go in sweating and that p*ssy start opening up |
Open your eyes, ni**a, I been here since the crack years |
But damn it seem like ni**as done f*ck with me ‘cause I’m too real |
Expecting me to fold as a whole but it’s no real |
It’s only right for me to add it up and make the sh*t clear |
I’m talking to you, old b*tch-ass, no-career-ass |
Ni**as think they got ahead, but they still in fear-ass |
How could you look me in the eyes of man |
And say you love me when the knife is in my back as I stand? |
But yet I’m everything you ni**as wanna be |
Everything you h*es wanna see, I meant that |
And everything you ni**as try to do I do it better ‘cause I kick ass |
So no more Mr. Nice, minus ain’t the life |
get ya killed, I’m firing ‘em up like it’s a drill and Rino paid the price |
You about to witness some rapping and dome clapping |
I’m leaving these suckers gasping, yeah I’m about that action |
Too trill you can’t clone, my melanin too strong |
Y’all got me up in my zone by talking on two phones |
Don’t let that suit and tie fool ya, yeah I did politics |
Before that, I was posted up with nicks |
And CDs by bloodliner’s Nubian kush |
Warrior, emperor, take the mic off the hook |
I got ‘em shook, or maybe it’s the way that I floss |
Paid dues in this game, it don’t matter the cost |
South Park Coalition, they was the first crew |
Southside representing, my ni**a, that’s what it do |
Leaders don’t follow, they live to see tomorrow |
When you beg, bum and borrow, it shows your words are hollow |
Liars, snakes, snitches, users, moochers fall hard |
They face the firing squad, oh my god |
Don’t call ‘em now, it’s much too late |
You didn’t change your ways so just accept your fate |
SPC be the clique, we put heads to bed |
I know you shook, the shadow of your soul is shaking scared |
Perspiration, anxiety, today your ass gon' learn |
P*ssy is a doorknob so we all gon' get a turn |
Erotic, psychotic describes my mental system |
South Park juggernaut, GT Hoodizm |
Not tryna cap, but you ain’t been where I been, fool |
I got more killers in my circle than the pen do |
They say that orange the new black, I say no thank ya |
I’m ‘bout my bread, keeping it business, the new gangsta |
Stay on the grind, getting it the slow or the fast way |
So many hefty bags, you might think it’s trash day |
Stay strapped, ready to spray if yo ass play |
So where your body fall, that’s where your body lay |
Southside South Park is where we all from |
Ain’t nobody saying sh*t when them laws come |
Bust a snitch in the mouth and leave his jaws numb |
And don’t start no sh*t ‘cause it’s gon' be some |
Son of, I’m used to hearing them shots, boy |
I’m used to seeing them cops on a ni**a ass, yes they hot boy |
Better watch out for them scheming ni**as and them roaching h*e ‘cause they |
plotting, boy |
I’ma treat none of these ratchet b*tches like classy chicks ‘cause they rotten, |
boy |
The power to tour, collecting my dollars from crumbs |
Inhaling my flowers in lumps, I came straight outta the slums |
I want it all hundreds and ones and when I die, that’s for my son |
My son, my son, say when I die, that’s for my son |
Uh, young raised by the streets, had to blaze flame to the beat |
Dedication every time I write, I leave my blood stains on the sheets |
still f*cking up to eat, no hesitation, I ain’t got a thing |
Mind gone, think I need a shrink |
They watching me and can’t even blink |
Blow it inside of ‘em, kill ‘em, I body ‘em |
There ain’t no finding ‘em, I’m there reminding ‘em |
I get your b*tch to blow me like |
I got no time for your sh*t, you ain’t hot enough |
Taking a break from the bake getting cake |
You ain’t gotta eat red meat to know it’s a steak |
I’m so cold on the flow, my shoes turn into skates |
Icy the user like me, now they hate |
What’s up with these ni**as? Motherf*ck they |
Stacking your figures and these b*tches |
I’m nice on religion, but I pray to God |
Pray that it keep me away from the frauds |
Spin around that’s the squad |
Had to see what they made of, they so hard |
And drop the sound, they done turn it into a job |
We cleaning up shop, you are now unemployed |
Allow me to hop on the track |
Allow me to put real music on the map |
Allow me to kill any beat ‘cause I won’t be defeated |
I’m heated, believe it’s a fact |
So now that I have your attention, I think I should mention that I am not |
feeling you ni**as |
Instead I’ma get on a beat and continue to eat, steady proving I’m killing you |
ni**as |
With that being said, I’m constantly getting that bread |
Focused on staying ahead, no longer misled |
Planning my future instead, don’t really care ‘bout the Feds |
You heard what I said, I won’t be affected by negativity, instead I’ma grind |
Building a empire for me and mine’s |
So call it p-o-p, I hold it down |
No pain, no gain |
Stimulate your mind like cocaine |
Better get in line like Usain |
Wanna face the squad — that’s insane |
I’ma get up in they mind, they ain’t stopping me |
They can have a million guns aim at ‘em at me |
I’ma run on the track 'til my feet bleed |
They better phone home like E. T |
Out of site, out of mind, I stay in the hood, I ain’t hard to find |
Trump and Hillary are out of line, they finna get hit better |
I ain’t playing no games, I’m just telling the truth |
Snapping they seals like I’m chasing the loot |
Red rum so watch out |
I’m squeeze on the trigger 'til they all out |
Line ‘em up, one by one, I’ma hit ‘em with a verse, I don’t need a gun |
Split wigs and pierce flesh, I’m down to get dirty but I stay fresh |
Unleashing all the darkness, squad nonstop and cock it |
Knowledge keeps the progress, Firing Squad in process |
Six degrees of separation, we just need a separate nation |
I’ma call it revolution, you can call it revelation |
Spend it how you wanna spend it, plus put something funky in it |
In this thing to show my naked ass and I’m a donkey with it |
Coalition soldier, bruh, we’ll destroy and fold ya, bruh |
The revolution won’t be televised, that’s what they told us, huh? |
A million brothers stand with me, knowledge born organically |
Oh say, yeah I can see how Uncle Sam don’t f*ck with me |
The devil planned it all along, they want all the races gone |
Smiling with them faces on, b*tch, f*ck you and that racist song |
Here your twenty-one gun salute, b*tch, them twenty-one guns for you |
Twenty-one guns they stop my flow and reckless tag gon' come for you |