San La Muerte Lyrics

Yeah – my mic sound good?
Yeah (rata-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta)
One-two, one-two
(Raise the gates)
Yeah, look. Yeah. (rata-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta)
Listen. Yeah

It’s node sub-optimal, so watch it when the Ruger spit
Record the homicide so I can watch how many views it get
Fuck the world, fuck ‘em all, I’m tired of this music shit
The [gooma] gon’ move regardless of who producin’ it
You dumb if you don’t think that it’s a shot gon’ fly
I will cross your fuckin’ T’s and I will dot that I
I will pop that nine, I will tighten the grip
You a sucka, you the type to take advice from a bitch
He defied God so he had to get his name cursed
Armed to the teeth, carry metal like a change purse
Make a list of raw motherfuckers: Put my name first
Every single line is by design to make ya brain hurt
High like a motherfucker, I ain’t hit the ground yet
Dumpin’ till the whole clip empty like a sound check
Twenty plus years, Akhi, I ain’t lost a round yet
Kemetic Orthodoxy where the ritual was founded

Nothing never is enough, everybody gettin’ touched
Motherfuckers is runnin’ up on me
The drama don’t stop, get your whole block shot
All these shooters is runnin’ up on me
I got a big street sweeper, I’m the hood Grim Reaper
Motherfuckers is dyin’ around me
My trigger finger stay itchin', we cookin’ in the kitchen
I ain’t fuckin’ with nobody but me

So come hell or high water I’mma watch for the drop
I make this graveyard crowded like a popular spot
Nowadays it’s kinda hard to tell a cop from a ock
I’mma aim the chopper either way and pop who I pop
Listen, he a traitor so he left for the hills
Screaming high-pitched, cryin’ like he Stephanie Mills
Ain’t no will or voice in this shit
Die now or die later, that’s the choice that you get
It’s moist and it’s wet, livin’ here is literally hell
Bodies stackin’ when I crack ‘em like the Liberty Bell
This dummy broke lookin’ at the bottom of the pipe
I’m comin’ with the heater like the bottom of the ninth
That’s Allah and that’s my life, wanna see me it’s nothin’
Just know that either way with me it’s gonna be a concussion
Body bags everywhere, machetes here to chop ‘em up
Put his body on ice, slap him like a hockey puck

Nothing never is enough, everybody gettin’ touched
Motherfuckers is runnin’ up on me
The drama don’t stop, get your whole block shot
All these shooters is runnin’ up on me
I got a big street sweeper, I’m the hood Grim Reaper
Motherfuckers is dyin’ around me
My trigger finger stay itchin', we cookin’ in the kitchen
I ain’t fuckin’ with nobody but me