Black Market (Live)-Weather Report

歌手 : Weather Report

专辑 : Live & Unreleased

语种 : 英语

时长 : 09:26

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TXT Black Market (Live)-Weather Report 文本歌词

The year is 1994

Black Market Records, 2001 Records, Doomsday Productions

Combined forces to create an unfadable click

Make way for the hounds of the underground

Feel the fury, ha ha ha ha ha

I put my hands in my pockets

They jiggle 'cause they fulla change,

Sometimes bein' broke'll make ya fall astray

But I got a better grip on myself

So I avoid gettin' played short like a elf

Bust her side bust her in the head

That white ? yoke come runnin' out his neck

I'm tryin' to stack a grip so don't let me hit this dank

'Cause if I hit this dank, I'ma shoot me a b**ch

F**k it, *puff*, bang bang,

Five minutes later, the cops came

I'm settin' up shop for the black market

So if I aim at your mark-a** you're a target

Told you that I'd come but I came insane

Born braincell killas, scramblin' niggas brains

If you gotta go you gotta go I like the six-fo

I'm pullin' GTA's, it ain't yo's no mo'

Then I take it and strip it down and leave nothin' but the frame

Then I'm gonna sell my cousin the gold thangs

Pop a burn and turn it over like a flapjack

Mo money mo money for black market

On the black market, yeah

Creepin' move with swiftness in the dark

And ain't no stoppin', once a ni**a start

It ain't nothin' new, up under the sun for days and days

Under the moon, is where I was born and raised

And doomed for life, ni**a this ain't no daylight

I love it, murderin' muthaf**kas in the night

Deuced up ready to make his mark a underground target

Hooked up with black market now peep

Sh*t gets deeper and deeper, meet me

The doomstown grim reaper, and PIT

Platinum, Mister Doctor Lynch Hung

We do your a** in good just for fun

Fifteen inches in your a** b**ch

Take it and love it, but I ain't talking bout no dick

14 suns and moons, somethin' you can assume

That on the 15th marks my day for doom

Buck em and f**k em with doomsday productions

Eclipse a crip if I catch you f**kin' with my grip

you'll find your a** dead in a graveyard

And I'ma continue on my ?

Well if you see me chewin' baby guts locc, would ya choke?

I vomit when that teflon pierce that babys' throat

Peep me eatin' dead cock

Ya trip 'cause eatin' dead p**sy clit'll make ya sick

But its that season so my reason is legit

I'm havin' fits, I've dreamed of eatin' bloody p**sy clit since I was 6

I fiend for dead p**sy on my dick, I got the schitz

Meanin' I don't give a sh*t about yo biatch

That ni**a that's from the block killin' off that cock

So ni**a, sheeeit

Baby barbeque ribs and guts, and uh

don't let me get to deep fryin' baby nuts

Sluts, get ate out like a ? them crooked teeth hurt

I pull that tampax string out and straight put in work

It wouldn't work without the sick

So page a ni**a quick so I can serve you some of that sh*t

And have you murderin' your biatch, violently

I've been keyed for 20 minutes and feel like killin

Loadin' that milli-milli its that infant killa

Ni**a Lynch, Mr. Doc, D-O double M and hella heat

Niggas unload, I need another dose of human meat

Outlive the creek, and black market death by the scene

As that ni**a that ni**a that nine millimeter punch you in yo spleen

You lay yo eyes up on my 4-4

And notice every curve in my strap

As them tears roll down

Flash yo life as ya fade to black

If that gat wasn't all up in yo face

Reminisce of yo folks, yo b**ch, yo kids, yo fate

Replace, take it down to the South, get deep

Think of mobs at your funeral locc, and all ya family

Huh, its kind of crazy you could lose all of these things so quick

And what's worse, ni**a shot you for the f**k of it, yeah

Never know I'd be the one to have your life in my hand

That niggas life won't last

Keep listenin' while I guide right down into your throat

Dig that barrel in your neck, watch your b**ch-a** choke

No hope, no joke, I'm savin' you the pain of old age

All I ask for is yo muthaf**kin grip in exchange

One to the brain, in the throat out the skull

From the big chrome gat, peeled cap relation, so

Now ya niggas know, one mo dead muthaf**ka on the street

Fo the Mista Doc, locc

Straight to the brain with St. Ides brew

The black market dealt murder when they serve them foo's