Murdah lyrics

Artist  : Bizzy Bone 
Song : Murdah



 Send "Murdah" Ringtone to your Cell 

 
Murdah is out of control/ Murdah just let it blow
(It blow)/ Word up if you bucked a mothafucka down
for taken ya dough (Taken ya dough...) nigga







-Bizzy Bone-



Know this liquor prolly killin my liver/ The
villian is still in effect/ And I buck this
motherfucker down, live and direct/ Hey, what
I'ma chastise my momma? Demand the respect, get
up and strategize bitches cryin like they never
wept/ Slept in the gutter with no tech, I'm still
in the dungeon/ Bitch I never left, pass that
sticky icky ganja/ Creep on ah come up, I crept
and I came/ Respect the dead game, remember ta
let ya nuts hang, often, matter of fact I'ma do
mine all day/ I don't sniff coke, I like to make
money/ Put the fiends in the room, who's hungry?
Cut from the cloth they cut me black cherry weed/
Cherokee Indians based in Cleveland, thuggin and
thievin till I'm the last one breathin/ Only one
believin is that Seventh Sign Saga/ Fresh and
remodeled, plush like Ramada now, holy like
Ramadan, a momma's smile/ Capo, my nigga what/
Nigga execution always my guns is crippin cuz,
P.B.D. posse/ I roll with Rasu, Nina Ross, and
Skails, Rhythm and Ghetto, Rosiah, 7th Sign murda
em all, yep...



And like little Capo-Confuscious say 'Nigga I'll
kill for you.'











-Chorus -







-Prince Rasu-



We can't get fucked, baby, take precaution fo'
sho'/ They say that nigga Gotti quiet , better
fire of a Calico/ Bastard, I'm a animal/ My
guradians was avenues/ My Lord be my shepherd,
but I swarms for collatoral/ Who can I trust?
Where can I turn? When will it all end? I'm
suited up in Timberland boots, Regime marchin'
God damnit I'm a grown man, time to take my own
stand/ Fuck the federations, my heart is racin'
like grown mens/ Fucked with the anger built up
from years of stress, killers and haters surround
me daily, no fears of death/ I hear the breaths of
angels and demons fightin' over my soul/ Lord,
just give me the path through this bloodbath and
it's on, Lord/ Roll all haters, out my zone when
it's goin' down/ Ride with the 7th Sign/ Violate,
we gone clown/ Four pounds be safe in the streets
of the showdown/ Love to Gambino, you the chief,
dog/ Chi-town youngsta







-Chorus-







-Josiah Rasu-



Cock back and blast, knockin sparks up out they
ass/ Makin marks come off that cast, nigga you
know what it is, think I'm serious/ Then heart
attack, missles aimed straight at where the fuck
your heart is at/ Fix cement or get hit, how hard
is that, to comprehend, I'm tryin to be gone
before them souljahs come marchin in/ You blue
suit wearin faggets with badges'll get the flux,
I don't give a fuck who you are we can send this
motherfucker up/ Crucifixion come quickly come
and get me Mister Reeper/ I ain't scared to die/
I'm all like more than willin, the more the real
the more that feel it, so I'ma stay real until my
heart stop/ My reflection with hoes, the essence
of the hard-knock life/ I am the light, and if
you miss us then u misses haven't heard of
murder/ Then you don't know of pain, my veins
bleed the same blood of the motherfuckers who
murdered my momma so I'm a natural born killa/
Than I, there was no cap peelas







-Chorus -







-H.I.T.L.A.H. Capo-Confuscious-



Me and my Comptons' monster mashin' mobsters/
Analyzin' we done plottin'/ Plans in progress;
Rap game held hostage/ Ransom, trillion dollars/
Low tolerence/ Suspect; Armed and dangerous,
violent tendency's/ The industry stick up,
Kingpin Capo Regime/ Bend on your knees, duck
tape and tied down, follow my lead or everyone
shot, bleed/ Squeeze round after round, empty
shells hit ots the ground/ Told you we ain't
fuckin' around/ Strictly about our business on
some gangsta shit, no bank account/ Money talks,
greedy hogs walk the plank/ Negotiatin' our way,
uh, forget the deal/ Your record labels' sorry
but your phony ass superstars carbon copied,
indistiguished, no identity/ Raise up off these
N-U-T's, cock suckin' nigga, please/ We ain't
dealin' with no Jerry Hellers, hell no/ Call us
the money makers, pullin' capers/ Baby momma need
that paper/ Get up off your ass, can't be no couch
potato/ Only gets greater later/ Better believe in
playa haters, see