Fes Taylor - Homicide Hill Lyrics
[Fes Taylor]Killa Mac, what up?Some niggaz crook back on the block, wolves clappin' them shotsSnitch niggaz rat to the cops, my cash cropsMake money grow from the trees, I blow on the D'sTry to lay Officer Brown down, Kase rest in peace (alright)My niggaz stressed in the streets, wrestle with beastsNah, I don't talk shit, son, it's special to speakTalk to him 'fore I put chalk to himPreacher dab holy water on his head, put a cross to himLord forgive him cuz we all sinnersWhile we livin' like slaves, eatin' pork dinnersI stick a fork in ya, yea, see if he doneHard for him to breathe through his lungGuns go boom like we beatin' the drums, niggaWhere I'm from, son, we eat in the slums, niggaWalk in my shoes, please, you at the bottom like gum, niggaTrigger 'pon *****, this ain't a robbery, niggaMost of you could keep ya charm and ya watch[Chorus: Fes Taylor]It's a homicide, it ain't over 'til we rideon these *****-ass niggaz, you seen me glide, right?Stay low, aim straight, all I got is my prideYellin' out "***** that, somebody gotta die"[Fes Taylor]It's like, death to anybody who fronted on me, you want it homey?I play the corners broley, won't let the Lord control meI run up in Sony, smack a few A&R'sCuz life is a gamble, I'm just playin' my cardsNiggaz better pray to God, that I don't spray ya squadIll song writer, murder MC's, my favorite jobThe streets'll say he's hardHot 97'll say he ain't commercial enough so they ain't playin' our's***** it, I say some bars that'll make you quit ya day jobAnd ***** with the block, I'm tryin' to cook this cake large'Fore the judge say "Officer, take charge"That's why we don't cut niggaz, leavin' their face scarredI lay niggaz, buck niggaz, all in ya face, GodScreamin' out "***** niggaz" all in ya face, GodThey listen to the way he spit "Damn, son, you murder it"This is what I gotta do, the Staten Island's heard of it[Chorus][Fes Taylor]Black down, pull my hat down, I pull a gat nowThat's when he cracked a smile, held up a childMy neighborhood's cracked out, son, some I'm handin' back SouthSo I took the cash route, did what you asked 'boutJust put the M*A*S*H out, kinda like my last boutCrashed mouth, son you ain't a man, you a half mouseRat-ass nigga, get snake, clear the grass outStill throwin' stones, know you livin' in a glass house (alright)Niggaz puttin' trash out, wonder why we lash out?Seen the size of the barrel and damn near passed outTeachers tell 'em class out, I'm a School of Hard Knocks graduateWith hammers like we rolled up in BattleshipsNah, this ain't a battle, *****Any type of embarrassment, resort to the old school avenue sticksI'm talkin' milk boxes, not cereal, niggaDon't make it in rap, I'd be a hip hop serial killa[Chorus][Outro: Fes Taylor]Yo, yo, yo, that's my motha*****in' word, BYo, yo, this that get fresh shit right here, BY'all niggaz think, you see my niggaz on some *****in'all actuality fly shit, right?We pretty happyDon't got the *****in' hammers and shitI ain't mad, it's pretty, nigga***** y'all niggaz think, man?
