Z-Ro, Spice 1, Pimp C - Murder'Ra lyrics

Uh, the damn place made me crazy
I don't care about nothing but
My daddy my granny, my bitch and my babies
Everything else, is expendable
Find out that fake niggas, ain't dependable
I don't owe, you niggas shit bitch
Home light weight but my style great
Now my pockets is the shit
Now it's time, for expansion
Bought a nice house for parole
Now I'm grind up building a mansion
I'm a rapper, and a game capper
Blue and red like a snapper
Got a thang for them pussy ass jackers
That ain't, no real hustle
Get some white gold or work it
And getting some real muscle bitch
If you want it, you can sho 'nuff get it
Made me bust your watermelon
Come on down fuck with it
Everybody, ain't no punk
I'm talking to you now boy
Don't make me go and pop the trunk biatch

Everyday, me keep it sucker free
Me not fuck with nobody
So why do them fuck with me
Don't test me temper
Make me have to watch me cool
Mack buyacka-buyacka
I didn't wanna act a fool
But, I'm a murderer, murderer
I'm a murderer, murderer

It's Mr bossilinie
Rolling up busting with real riders
Drop them b-b-bombs, like I'm up in Al Qida
Cause, I'm a murderer
Put it on you haters for real
Hit a nigga with the 4-5
Get to dumping slugs all in his Caddy grill
Smoke chronic for my glaucoma
Yeah I said glaucoma
I got a motherfucking Glock
And I put niggas in comas
Hit corners on 24's, waving hi at your hoes
With bald heads braids, perms and afros
I'm caked up like Duncan Hi
But I'm not your average do' boy
I autograph a slug
And put you on the flo' boy
It's the Spiceberg Slim
Soprano Montana minds
I done been through the flames
Walked through the motherfucking fire
They can never, put my flame out
And if I wasn't high
I'd pull your motherfucking
Brains out murderer

Everyday I label my loot
Leaving you ladies lonely
I don't love pussy
I just love to murder these niggas
When they walk up on me y'all don't know me
Some of y'all rappers think y'all know me
This nigga right here don't
Give a fuck though
So I suggest you hoes step back
What I got in my pants is called a
That's too big to fit in a holster gat
Straight from where niggas sell
That mad crack, just ran him over crack
It ain't no love in Missouri City
My partna I know it look nice
A 4-5 fuck around
Hit a nigga you'll get took twice
Might get beat up and robbed
Or you might get beat up and shot
It all depend on what you riding in
And if it look like you got a lot or not
I use to think I'd have a future
Playing basketball
But lately all I been doing
Is putting people in caskets y'all
Am I sorry hell naw
If I sent him he was already on his way
When the grim reaper swing by
It'll make you wish your ass was home today
Fuck with me I'ma hit up Spice
It ain't a thang to tap the trigger twice
Brrr-click brr-click
They sideways into the next life