The Bullitts – Murder Death Kill Lyrics


It goes small phones, cell phones, smoking till our lungs broke
That’s my generation and you wonder why them dumbs broke
I speak life and I try to get the young hope
Dip it in a sun bowl blush day, gun smoke
If I see some decent shit then you would think I’m dumb, though

Brown coast, double dutching with no jump ropes
Somebody ask me where I’m going and I’m just throwing chill
‘Cause you know I’ll never know it
But I’m feeling I’m the man I finally thought of being
I celebrate a lost life and I don’t call it greeting
I’m with that bad ass bitch, slither Puerto Rican
And she never angel like she Morgan Freeman
Fuck her till she short of breathing, I got that last dick
They try to listen to my riddance, couldn’t grasp my shit
So I tell ’em that the beat right, this is just the B side

It’s the B side, it’s terminology

I put your brains B side, you want your Levis
I’m a B boy, that’s why the want me on the B side
You should decide your words before you try to be fly
‘Cause we ride, the basic Puerto Ricans from east side
Rock a fleet, lies, a shell top, ID, dies
I never had a problem with style, you need to revise
It’s these months bag a model, chase with the green eyes
Trench coat, all she wearing under that is knee highs
I smash freaks in back seats of black Jeeps
Young cane, we run trains on dumb veins out in LA
Rap legends hitting up this LA
I’m making crack music it’s what I’m usually doing
For the benjies I pretend I’m your friend then cut off your head
Torn the family ’cause I blow with the semi that leave you dead
I’m just playing but I’m not really joking so watch your head
I got lots of bread, pimp master shrimp, master bread

Hey yo, I inhale deep in the verse, this what I coughed up
Rappers think it’s chopped out once they getting choked up
A lot of people always talk talk
Hop your verse, pack a pun, it’s only your talk tough
I run the row, motherfucker, take no shortcuts
Me, I’m in the limo getting brain, spitting short busts
I’m making more bucks, till my daddy wore bucks
‘while the rich are getting war bust
And how Obama gonna get a fucking peace prize
I’m making dough, motherfucker, watch the east rise
And if you shifting ten and a half, it’s my feet size
Shut your eyes, come and listen to the sound

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