Testo Thrilla - Bodega Bamz feat. Flatbush Zombies
Testo della canzone Thrilla (Bodega Bamz feat. Flatbush Zombies), tratta dall'album Strictly 4 My P.A.P.I.Z
From Flatbush to Broadway
Niggas shootin' up the ave in broad day
Tanboys got that tan shit
We got more quarters than the arcade
Butterfly blade, face sauteed
I laugh and then, rip off face
And sew it on my letterman
And slowdance on your carcass
I'm rollin, I mean Ronin
Life is just a car chase
Bullseye on your third eye
Red dot on your target
Blood smear on your friends near
Now your homies is shark baits
Bullets in the diem, no carpe
You copy?
Like dub tapes
I'm really bout that fetti, Pa
Shoot a bitch over my bread like Remy Ma
Peel off (vroom vroom)
Now your city block
Renegade living like a never seen the cops
Everything stay schemin' and I've seen the plot
When your words are your weapon you don't need no Glock
When your words are your weapon you don't need no Glock
Tanboys, Zombie bonded in blood metal slugs
Blood runneth over
Could you sip it any slower? Hold up hold up
Row up
Get your hoes up
We gettin trippy
Got four hoes with me
They down to swallow
Down a bottle of that tan juice
Drop a bottle
Get your head loose
Brooklyn
Them shots rang uptown
That block game
Make more money than cops do cuz the block fool
Niggas ain't on my shuttle
Niggas don't know that I come through with the snorkel
Got the gun too and it rip through
One one two
Fuck fuck you
Shootin niggas in threes
Like Reggie Miller
Zombie Game
Man fuck yall niggas
Juice be the name
Got love for the green
Came from the bottom
Ain't never gone aim
Bomb on you niggas like Hiroshim
I'm Mean Gene
Blowin' hella green
Got my seat back and my heat strapped
And you layin' dead on the street smacked
Peep that
Smoke a blunt then relax (relax)
Brown water, my tan juice
100 keep that loose on deck
Chain so heavy might lose my neck
Lose my life never lose respect
I stamp down this papi talk
I run the town your papis walk
No cosign (nigga fuck that shit)
She tryna chill? Nigga fuck that bitch
(Spanish) Maricon gran puta Like a barracuda
Eat the pussy up, heart jumpin' out her hooters
SSI so to find my nigga Luca
Loco 730 fuckboy
I make a nigga locked up like a pump fake
You won't electrocute of that duct tape
Go roll, see, smell; Serve Colgate
That's blanco, color coordinate
A dead witness is a cold case, put new dope in that old vein)
Ignore the pain, we the New, New York
In this old game, yall rappers look pale
Learn to survive since Oregon Trail
I'mma just win never tie or trail
This nigga pussy leave him holy like the grail
Picture me scared, frame hangin' off a nail
Nah not me
I'm the one, not two, so high I see three
Like Paul
Credits
Writer(s): John Farrar, Nathaniel De La Rosa, Dimitri Simms, Antonio Lewis, Erick Elliott
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