Vinnie Paz - Death By Guillotine lyrics

No, not too much is new i'm so fucking high
I'mma spit a bomb verse
D-Motherfucking-Moz nigga
Cyssero, Vin, Some real shit right here baby
Problem

Look, ever feel suicidal to the
Point that you tried it
And when they asked you about it
You don't know how to deny it
Doc all in your face
Asking what is the motive
You got split personalities and it's
Hard to control 'em taking xans and percs
Drinking liquor and beer
Feeling sick to your stomach
Trying to shift through the gears
On a slippery rope
Plus your vision is blurry
Worst case scenario
They'll miss you after you're buried
Wife fucking your man, brother
Stuff in the jam
Thought and starred at your pictures
Like where the fuck is my dad
I'm a problem atomic
Trying to rhyme with these chickens
Shit 'em out in the morning and
Take a piss on the omelet
Made an honesty promise
I ain't gotta be modest
I ain't got to be parted
This whole economy's garbage
I'm a comet in space
I ain't part of this land
I'm a fuckin' two-face
Why would you call me your man

Tongue twisted like Pun digging
My tongue tissue it's one missile
We blow you to little lunch issues
We fuck with you
We came with you but left dolo
We stuck with you on one issue, we reign solo

We through a bomb in the
Parade at these gay homos we manic
How the fuck are they gonna break kodos?
Freddy roaching a corner
Cause we ain't saying nothing
And we just sitting there twitching
Like we sniffing our caine, bugging

Creep quiet, but that chopper loud
(you know how we do)
Look, the way I perform with that
K that'd rock a crowd
Mask and glove when I squeeze them slugs
Make a bloodbath, we gonna need a tub
Shit, we riding dawg
When we catch his ass let
That Super-Soaker wet his ass
Dry him off, military tactics
Moving silent dawg
Paint the neighborhood red when
That iron drawn
Yeah, DaVinci of the gun-slinging
Shots make a bastard leak
Make a masterpiece, get your casket dropped
That's the art of war, bang at the targets
War, then burn the bodies
What you need a coffin for
If you ain't built for all that
What you talking for (be quiet)
Yeah, tell your homeboy calm his mad
Unless he want a fuckin'
Problem on his hands (for real)


Yeah, Pazienza put the torch to him
Young rap version of Dr kevorkian
This pussy done, put a fork in him
Or I'mma have to let the 44 bark at him
He better pray he got a squad with him
Like the proletarian revolution of Marxism
Put your body in the star system
Reveal it'self as bleeding light
Allah wisdom
Bullets fast when they travelling
The silencer is strong and it's
Long like a javelin
Now he dead put a bag in him
Green from the dope fine lean
And the scag in him
I hold the ratchet unorthodox
Pernell Whitaker, ducking all sorts of shots
Various types of torture plots
And I'mma ride till I die
And the coffin drops