pattern forming This endless night has taken its toll It takes its toll On me And Im damning every night That I cant seem to get right Stares from those hollow
that only I know Goodfella not gunshotto And I'm tellin' niggas, make money's the motto Fuck the niggas that squable And I hit them back and fourteen hollow
park in front of my enemy's eyes They see that it's war we life stealers Hollow tip, lead busters there's no Heaven or hell Dead is dead, fuckers and
games. Many tried for it, lied for it, get a catchy chorus and fly for it. Take orbit, let gravity be your fortress tonight. Elevate your brain, hold your heart
calls darkness light Though my language is dead Still the shapes fill my head I'm living in an age Whose name I don't know Though the fear keeps me moving Still my heart
darkness light Though my language is dead Still the shapes fill my head I'm living in an age Whose name I don't know Though the fear keeps me moving Still my heart
out spray hollows at your back I don't give a fuck, it's goin' down like that I done been through every hood, dead niggas gone rap In the heart of a
overspecialized, under pressurized No lie texturized, emcees who got the masses mesmerized With empty rhetoric, they better quit Niggas so hollow that they echo like sentiments Nowadays rap artists coming half-hearted
The hammer on the strings plays a death song wickedly Prevail'll nail through your heart, sounds painful Trumpets welcome me like Gabriel The Archangel Hollow
the dead out the realm with a 6 Overwhelmed by the smell of the clips, gun smoke, shots hit We surrounded by Hell and politics, bulletproof or hollow
Places that only I know Goodfella not gunshotto And I'm tellin' niggas, make money's the motto Fuck the niggas that squable And I hit them back and fourteen hollow
today's subject is death The way I look at it it's three basic elements right? Die, dying, dead right? die, dying, dead. death becomes you says the
your ass hung Chop you up with my machete with my hockey mask on Better yet I'll paint my face up like Dead Presidents In your neighborhood, nothing but dead
on tight, to your life Cause we just might have to take it Locked and loaded fully automatic, just in case Finger on the trigger, spittin' hollow points
This what you call hardcore, fat gospel, street gospel (South, South, Bronx!) Yo where my people at? (South, South, Bronx!) Yo where my heart is at? (
This what you call hardcore, fat gospel street gospel South South, Bronx Yo where my people at? South South, Bronx Yo where my heart is at? South South
money nigga this ain't happenin When your dream boat sails away you just sob did a regular job and start to rob Went crazy when losin your lady your heart
you know, sharp as an arrow Sing like a sparrow, Grym Reap's the motto +Killing You Softly+ with Islam right knowledge For hollow-head pieces that worship dead
