Vinnie Paz, Estee Nack, Jay Royale - Scorched Earth lyrics
[Vinnie Paz, Estee Nack, Jay Royale - Scorched Earth lyrics]
Flashbang, that’s a photo op
My shooters take you out the
Fucking picture like a Photoshop
A thousand knives coming at you
That’s a Sakamoto shot
The 93-R machine pistol that’ll Robocop
Three round burst mode
Blow your fucking fingers off
Lights out, black ski mask
And the ringer off
Action and reaction, akhi
I don’t even think at all
The cuete out of Italy
The ‘caine is out of Singapore
Yall know I’m never running out of ammo
The yoppa keep spitting like
Somebody chew tobacco
Screwface, ox under the tongue, I’m a wacko
Sentence you to death, blood feud
And I’m Draco
That’s the sound of the machete chop
Beat a motherfucker til his eye
End up like Fetty Wap
I had motherfuckers going south for the birds
Y'all ain’t doing nothing
Actions speak louder than words
And my word stay bond son you know
What I'm sayin'? Bond is life
And I give my life before my
Words, y'all feel that? Yo, so listen
I smoke flavors of shorty
Listening to La India
Works for Rodriguez, stand to settle within
Handle beamers, fully automatic Beretta Ninas
Arenas, the work is genius
Only respect the seniors
Señore, smoke oil, sniff it into Pyrex
Double the grind ax, dump the beamer
Slip into Fylex
Strip you suplex, my nigga you guessed it
Who protest it
True to the Est, it's beautiful, precious
Get it moving in Venice to Budapest
I'm moving and flexing
The music masses from the
Prisons to the pazzes
Endless, infinite mental, magnetics
Molecular measurements
True living god in the flesh, no beginning
No ending the Ford is a death deficit
Yo, it ain't even a question of
Whether I'm still in the streets definite
I got heathens to make the beef broil
Your arms too weak for the recoil
Throw you to the wolves and they feast on you
I can sick the streets on you
It's only beats you can feed me with
Shit get thick, approach your whip with a
Stick like a Squeegee
When you cross paths with trigger bullets
It's rigor mortis the brick's enormous
From long range can flip a walrus
Burn shit up like incinerators
Pushing pen and paper
Fuck around and split your chin with a razor
It's critical slander
I'm sick with spitting the grammar
I can regenerate a limb like
Let's switch the agenda
Cold and blistering winds in the winter
Release the fire and pen at
Your brain with the Kimber
It's target practice for you novice rappers
Guaranteed to leave 'em slumped when
I dump the automatic
Amityville with the mic handling skills
Can chew through turnbuckles like
George Animal Steele
My shooters take you out the
Fucking picture like a Photoshop
A thousand knives coming at you
That’s a Sakamoto shot
The 93-R machine pistol that’ll Robocop
Three round burst mode
Blow your fucking fingers off
Lights out, black ski mask
And the ringer off
Action and reaction, akhi
I don’t even think at all
The cuete out of Italy
The ‘caine is out of Singapore
Yall know I’m never running out of ammo
The yoppa keep spitting like
Somebody chew tobacco
Screwface, ox under the tongue, I’m a wacko
Sentence you to death, blood feud
And I’m Draco
That’s the sound of the machete chop
Beat a motherfucker til his eye
End up like Fetty Wap
I had motherfuckers going south for the birds
Y'all ain’t doing nothing
Actions speak louder than words
And my word stay bond son you know
What I'm sayin'? Bond is life
And I give my life before my
Words, y'all feel that? Yo, so listen
I smoke flavors of shorty
Listening to La India
Works for Rodriguez, stand to settle within
Handle beamers, fully automatic Beretta Ninas
Arenas, the work is genius
Only respect the seniors
Señore, smoke oil, sniff it into Pyrex
Double the grind ax, dump the beamer
Slip into Fylex
Strip you suplex, my nigga you guessed it
Who protest it
True to the Est, it's beautiful, precious
Get it moving in Venice to Budapest
I'm moving and flexing
The music masses from the
Prisons to the pazzes
Endless, infinite mental, magnetics
Molecular measurements
True living god in the flesh, no beginning
No ending the Ford is a death deficit
Yo, it ain't even a question of
Whether I'm still in the streets definite
I got heathens to make the beef broil
Your arms too weak for the recoil
Throw you to the wolves and they feast on you
I can sick the streets on you
It's only beats you can feed me with
Shit get thick, approach your whip with a
Stick like a Squeegee
When you cross paths with trigger bullets
It's rigor mortis the brick's enormous
From long range can flip a walrus
Burn shit up like incinerators
Pushing pen and paper
Fuck around and split your chin with a razor
It's critical slander
I'm sick with spitting the grammar
I can regenerate a limb like
Let's switch the agenda
Cold and blistering winds in the winter
Release the fire and pen at
Your brain with the Kimber
It's target practice for you novice rappers
Guaranteed to leave 'em slumped when
I dump the automatic
Amityville with the mic handling skills
Can chew through turnbuckles like
George Animal Steele