lirik lagu dead on arrival – ng fresh
[intro:]
yeah, back with another one
let’s go!
(*shoot*out)
[chorus:]
coming up in this game with zero f*cks given
this real life bullsh*t got me fearful of livin’
but i’mma hustle hard, make it clear how i’m driven
goal*setting every day of the year that i’ve striven
writing iconic sh*t that’ll become archival
k!ll ’em with the rhymes that these motherf*ckers deprived of
shut up, b*tch, there ain’t no chance for revival
ayo, doc, just tell ’em to pr*nounce ’em dead on arrival
[verse 1:]
there be too many chiefs but no enough indians
goin’ dumb with the phrases, f*ckin’ up idioms
pushin’ you little pr*cks back into oblivion
going off the limb at you b*tches just like ophidians
y’all attractive at surface level but hideous
on the inside of you, hiding something insidious
snakes in the grass, y’all be cold*hearted amphibians
but fronting on us like you all zen and 1st corinthians
y’all showing love on the gram, but not in real life
kind*hearted but the tongue i got’s a steel knife
rather get angry in my songs than at people
and wrongfully cheat ’em, but sh*t the rhymes i jot will steal wives
ay, man, i gotta start neglecting all the assh0l*s
but reflecting on the battles i’ve fought to survive
has me p*ssed off at f*ckery that i’ve caught with my eyes
no surprise that you ain’t leaving my lyrical slaughter alive
ay, b*tch i’m
[chorus:]
coming up in this game with zero f*cks given
this real life bullsh*t got me fearful of livin’
but i’mma hustle hard, make it clear how i’m driven
goal*setting every day of the year that i’ve striven
writing iconic sh*t that’ll become archival
k!ll ’em with the rhymes that these motherf*ckers deprived of
shut up, b*tch, there ain’t no chance for revival
ayo, doc, just tell ’em to pr*nounce ’em dead on arrival
[verse 2:]
going in raw and uncut, man, f*ck the foreplay
nothing’s as hard as the tracks i cut in four days
y’all be loud on your bullsh*t, but what’s your forte
meanwhile, i’m smooth but cold to the touch like sorbet
when i spit, they gon’ talk that sm*t in poor taste
feed ’em facts, they’ll be throwing up a court case
but on my side is where god has his support placed
even when i slaughter these motherf*ckers in more ways
then one: mic, hands, guns, and sword blades
screaming but no one can hear you from the doorway
and everyone be believing nothing you wh0res say
smearing my name and acting all sl*tty for pay
k!ll and then bury you, dumping the truck before they
catching up with me, then they gonna book and report me
to the authorities, those pr*cks already deplore me
but the majority’s with me as these chords play
[chorus:]
coming up in this game with zero f*cks given
this real life bullsh*t got me fearful of livin’
but i’mma hustle hard, make it clear how i’m driven
goal*setting every day of the year that i’ve striven
writing iconic sh*t that’ll become archival
k!ll ’em with the rhymes that these motherf*ckers deprived of
shut up, b*tch, there ain’t no chance for revival
ayo, doc, just tell ’em to pr*nounce ’em dead on arrival
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