
Jack Kevorkian Tha God Fahim (Ft. Mach-Hommy)
На этой странице вы найдете полный текст песни "Jack Kevorkian" от Tha God Fahim (Ft. Mach-Hommy). Lyrxo предлагает вам самый полный и точный текст этой композиции без лишних отвлекающих факторов. Узнайте все куплеты и припев, чтобы лучше понять любимую песню и насладиться ею в полной мере. Идеально для фанатов и всех, кто ценит качественную музыку.

[These lyrics are intentionally locked and left partial due to a DMCA takedown request. Please do not edit the lyrics to include the removed sections.]
[Intro]
[Verse 1: Mach-Hommy]
[Verse 2: Tha God Fahim]
Run up with the Kel-Tec, all silly, bro
And clap you like a ass from a Nicki Minaj video (Dr-r-r!)
I'll leave you blessed by the devil
Fashion rebel, all my life been bangin' heavy metal
Blame it on the bezel
Made the smell of death easy to settle
I been blasting steel since 9 years old
A product of the ghetto
[Verse 3: Mach-Hommy]
[Verse 4: Tha God Fahim]
Death's disciple with the .22 rifle
My chains glow like the glove of Michael
You should slap yourself with your own hand
For tryna blade-dance with Black Conan
This ain't a slow jam
I beat the nigga 'til his brain was dead
Put the clip to his head
All the cerebral tissue fell down straight to his legs
Soon as he hopped off the porch, in the yard where he bled
Threw the pistol in the sewer, got no plates for the feds
The moon burns red, the skies turn black
And when your eyes turn back
From the bullet that I put in your helm
Just another fuck nigga in the twilight realm
[Intro]
[Verse 1: Mach-Hommy]
[Verse 2: Tha God Fahim]
Run up with the Kel-Tec, all silly, bro
And clap you like a ass from a Nicki Minaj video (Dr-r-r!)
I'll leave you blessed by the devil
Fashion rebel, all my life been bangin' heavy metal
Blame it on the bezel
Made the smell of death easy to settle
I been blasting steel since 9 years old
A product of the ghetto
[Verse 3: Mach-Hommy]
[Verse 4: Tha God Fahim]
Death's disciple with the .22 rifle
My chains glow like the glove of Michael
You should slap yourself with your own hand
For tryna blade-dance with Black Conan
This ain't a slow jam
I beat the nigga 'til his brain was dead
Put the clip to his head
All the cerebral tissue fell down straight to his legs
Soon as he hopped off the porch, in the yard where he bled
Threw the pistol in the sewer, got no plates for the feds
The moon burns red, the skies turn black
And when your eyes turn back
From the bullet that I put in your helm
Just another fuck nigga in the twilight realm
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