lirik lagu murder talk – bos flip
[intro: bos flip]
(markhoes, it’s a motherf*ckin’ tag)
(rare’, is that you? haha)
d*mn, i’m tired as h*ll, i’m in the booth though
got them, ayy, i’ma—, ayy, it’s the yeah
motherf*cker twenty ball
[verse 1: bos flip]
ayy, why they play?
ayy, told you, “if you play, you lay” (walk down)
ayy, n*gga, you was born a b*tch so, n*gga, you gon’ die that way (p*ssy)
ayy, n*gga try me like a b*tch, old n*gga, you gon’ die today
and i know n*ggas out here snitchin’ so i just stay out the way (they tellin’)
ayy, we might slide today (no cap)
make a mama cry today (no cap)
ayy, n*ggas, they gon’ hide today, we poppin’ out, outside today (on my mama)
ayy, they done let them members in the door, b*tch, get up out my face
yeah, i’m out my top, i dare a n*gga get up out his place
a n*gga get up out his place, we put his ass back there (let’s go)
hit his ass, watch him fall, stand over, keep hittin’
teach you how to k!ll a n*gga, n*gga, this that murder business (this that talk)
ayy, make sure when you hit a n*gga, keep on shootin’ ’til the gun geekin’ (let’s go)
vfft vfft, vfft vfft, n*gga this that f*ckin’ switchy
baow baow, baow baow, that’s that arp with six (baow, baow, baow)
ayy, make sure that you put a scope on top so you don’t do no missin’
and make sure that you overk!ll his ass until his body twitchin’ (he f*cked)
ayy, hit his face so many times, they can’t even recognize the n*gga (d*mn)
sh*ll catcher, thirty*eight, they won’t even recognize who did it (i’m gone)
always be the suspect, i can’t never go out like the victim (nah)
ayy, blind out his ass, he won’t recognize what hit him (yeah, over)
ayy, if i want you dead, n*gga, you got up soon as i say, “get him” (no cap)
r.i.p.s poles, that n*gga dead, they better be choppers with him (he gone)
chopper sent his ass way so high, that n*gga thought the helicopter sent him (yeah)
sent that n*gga’s ass so high to god and told him that the doctor sent him (mop)
[verse 2: 2sgtay & bos flip]
told him the doctor sent him, but really, my chopper sent him
smacked that n*gga so hard with my bl!cky, he thought the box was hittin’ him
drop the racks on top his head, lil’ b*tch, i make his mama get him (d*mn)
try to swing in that lil’ honda, keep on shootin’ ’til the top go missin’ (gone)
you can eat me, i’ma f*ck lil’ b*tch, but we don’t do no cuffin’ (no)
every n*gga ’round me got a body, yeah, you know we livin’ risky
see, you rap, paperwork, came back, yeah, that n*gga b*tchy
got a new splat, it’s a scat, all*black sppinin’ like a frisbee (let’s go)
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