The Heatmakerz, Joell Ortiz, Fred The Godson - Murder One lyrics

[The Heatmakerz, Joell Ortiz, Fred The Godson - Murder One lyrics]

These tears are no longer for you baby
These tears are no longer for you baby
Heatmakers, crack music

It's Gordo!

Trade led with Fred, we can turn it Beirut
Get head in your bed
Fingers all in your bae roots (Haha)
She wildin’ off
I'm like a shot of that Grey Goose
Don't care for my eclairs
Lick a shot at ya grey goose
The illest to illustrate it
The realest if skill’s debated (That's true)
Still they hated, like, "Fuck your lyricism"
Ten forty belows, constructive criticism
Gordo, Joell go slow, gas blow, oh well
Gettin' that cake, cash and love
Gotta go to the scale
On a plate, mask and gloves
I ain't go to Modell's
Fiends in Hell, stuff went well
Before I was workin' with Lil'
Puffs like Andre Harrell
This is for my hood niggas waitin' on a cell
All my niggas up north with they
Weight up in the cell i’m God

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six
Five, four, th-th-three, two
Murder one lyric at your door
Let one of these niggas act up and I’ma
(Murder one)
I wish a nigga would jump so I could
(Murder one) ten, nine, eight, seven, six
Five, four, th-th-three, two
Murder one lyric at your door
Let one of these niggas act up so I could
(Murder one)
I wish a nigga would jump and I'ma
(Murder one)

Uh, wait up though
Was on that corner on the crate
Before The Wake Up Show thirty two back
Only cooked twenty eight up though
I ain’t just blow, straight up
I had straight up blow
Technos and Jojos, no Jacob glow
Bright goals and fo-fo's lift your face up
Bro i could tell the kind of stories
You can't make up though
Being myself allowed me to
Fuck them make-up hoes
You could have this bitch back
I ain't gon’ take your hoe
Just know if the pussy good that
We gon' break up slow
Haha, I write hit's and buy kicks
Fly shit and I ain't never been inside Kif
I might be trippin' but I
Feel like these niggas forgot
Let me remind 'em like
Rewinding the Kennedy shot (blagh)
I'm still Muhammed with the word vomit
This cash is heavy as clay in my jean pocket

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six
Five, four, th-th-three, two
Murder one lyric at your door
Let one of these niggas act up and I'ma
(Murder one)
I wish a nigga would jump so I could
(Murder one) ten, nine, eight, seven, six
Five, four, th-th-three, two
Murder one lyric at your door
Let one of these niggas act up so I could
(Murder one)
I wish a nigga would jump and I'ma
(Murder one)

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