Testo The Murderers - Ja Rule
Testo della canzone The Murderers (Ja Rule), tratta dall'album Venni Vetti Vecci
Word to God
Y'all know who the - this is
You know we would kidnap your kids
You know what the - we do
Murder - like you
For real, all the time, any place, anywhere
Y'all ni- could get it
Act like y'all don't know
In a world that's ice cold, Blacks die slowly
Cats snatch rollies, gats and leave you holely
My momma always told me, "The streets will slow me down"
Daddy never showed me how heat will hold me down
So now I rob and steal, spit - you feel
With a clique that kills, yeah, my - that real
I hustle hard all my life, ran the streets all night
My wife always said everything was gon' be a'ight
And she was right, and that's one reason why I love her
But everythin' she said went in one ear and out the other
Word to mother, look at it from a thug point of view
When the kids need clothes, what a thug gon' do?
Hit the streets and hustle or pick up the heat and bust you
I'm tryna eat like Russell, murder is my hustle
You keep chasin' yesterday, you gon' miss tomorrow
It's murder mother- we don't beg or borrow
We take - you and your fake -, when the eight spit
You could feel the hatred, taste it
You high right now, you ain't ready to die right now
The 45'll calm you down, you under trauma now
It's drama how a child will shut - down
Killin' - for the - of it, I'll get you touched for chips
- That -, and - your whips, - you -
You can just suck my -
If you chasin' yesterday, you gon' miss tomorrow
It's murder mother-, we don't beg or borrow
We take - you and your fake -
When the eight spit, you could feel the hatred, taste it
It's your blood, when we show love, we murderers (murderers)
We throw slugs, we hustlers (hustlers), we sell drugs
And tell thugs live it up 'til yo' time's up (yo, yo)
Don't give a - if y'all - hate me, drop bodies off where the lakes be
But lately, I've been hittin' cribs and safes where the cake be
I take three to the vest for the love of the dollar
And put that hot - through you and watch you (holla, holla)
The same - that I ball wit'. I'ma brawl wit'
Armored tanks run in the bank and take all of it
Player we're flawless, wit' nothin' to losin'
Gun buttin' and bruisin' -, y'all can't live
Funny - about it, - wan' hit me, forget about it
Thug - I'm still livin' y'all - just spit about it
I robbed and extort - two-thirds of my life
The other thirds spent slingin' on curbs, chasin' them birds
If you ever get the urge to come try for test
Then all in one day you get numb and lied to rest
It's murda the only code to the ghetto
It's murda, - hand me the bezel or dance with the devil
Guns rapidly spit, gangsta -, attractin' yo -
Gettin' head and lean back in the six
I'm after the chips, - I'm tryna tell you
You holdin' hammers and nail you
Have you where the dogs couldn't smell you
If you chasin' yesterday, you gon' miss tomorrow
It's murder mother-, we don't beg or borrow
We take - you and your fake -
When the eight spit, you could feel the hatred, taste it
It's your blood, when we show love, we murderers (murderers)
We throw slugs, we hustlers (hustlers), we sell drugs
And tell thugs live it up 'til yo' time's up
Ja's a mother- problem, any - think not, I'ma pop him
Put the lean on - the minute I spot 'em
Who gettin' it, I got 'em - and gon' dot 'em
To the cross in the road show 'em how them guns blow
I'ma degenerate - addicted to hydro
Switchin' four lanes, top down with my eyes closed
Got a death wish, money, drugs, and murderer -
What you want with this? We'll kidnap your kids
Clap up your cribs, it's the murderers
Who you know wit' guns that kill - just because?
We them hot -, sell more records than Roc -
I'ma lock it down for six months and shock -
What's my name? J to A to R-U-L-E
With them - get between more sheets than Isley
You can't deny me, I'm the mother- one
Druggin', -, like heron, the don be the Rule
If you're hot keep ice on your jewels
Cop a Benz and 20-inch chromin' shoes
I got nuttin' to lose but everythang to live for
Thoroughbred demand and supply the raw
I put my smackdown from N-Y to Chi-Town
Incorporated murda spittin' 'em rounds
You don't wanna hear how it sounds when we cock and flame
It's murder and ain't - gon' change, -
Uh, mother-
Understand that, uh, uh
Live and die for this, here -
It's murda, mother-
Give it to 'em raw like that
Uh, uh, all my murders!
Ride out-, the world
You heard?
Murder Inc -
Credits
Writer(s): Jeffrey B. Atkins, Mark Anthony Myrie, Tyrone Fyffe, Ramel Gill, Tiheem Crocker, Clement Dodd, Irving Domingo Lorenzo
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