Brotha Lynch Hung - The Corpse Came To Dinner lyrics

its a must that i bust any strap you hand to me its inherited it runs in the Family n***a in the town got pounds of beef threaten a n***as life make it Sound so sweet i peel em back like corn on the cob cap pillem make em sound Like a who*e on the job with a mak in the back pak hittin em off. (b**h betta have my money, b**h where my money?) Sicmade till i die sh** nobody saw so i was able to wipe the bllod off the hall Way walls i aint got nothing to live for cant even trust a b**h might have to Leave her alone i had to dig a ditch sh** so rigoris dillin with Haters,snitches,and b**hes get there brains gone find a new home, one life is Gone and im on one check the clock and if these walls could talk mothaf**as Would be shot im bout to go 51/50 got nobody with my stressed out like Whitney,bobby brown,weed,and whisky smoking newports no support by like to too Short i keep it going shootin up force who in the sport wanna f** with me cum On the courts rippin out insides puttin stains on thangs thats when i ripin Ride and i slipn slide throught the gardens with a bloody t-shirt it wont hurt Look at it this way 6 ft deep in the dirt wont hurt flirtin with murda i leave Em un heard of and im sick of your period pads drippin all over your hands Getting in the back seat of the truck its your choice dead or alive smuthered And fried the way you betta Uncover yo eyes in in disguse witha 9 tryin to take out yo spine nobdy no crime Thro up that 6 sign and strike hard like a tek 9 no recovery you other g n***as Beta duck leave you in tuxed up cycle off the wall like micheal always perinoid Cause i be blowin out that nitro all day everyday murder spray got you in glad Bags headed frothe pad you can ask my dad i was a scanvenger 14 yrs old eating Scabs graduated from n***a meat but i dont wanna brag f** jeffery dohmer hes a Mothaf**n f*g i got n***a nuts and guts in a bag draggin them to the pad. (zip lock,body bag,toe tag,wet t-shirt,black mask)2x (corpse came to dinner)repeat chorus 4 more x f** under the influence im hella f**ed up swervin down the freeway spillin my Cup tryin to tell you bout this rapper on the underbelly he aint sh** he bout To be in the trunk smelly by me and my relly you never know whatever though i Got automagazines and that weak n-tro what you got against me dont you know i Rip n***as up turn them to minced meat so if you got some since beat it like Raw eggs i used to have hella homies now they all hate but imma leave it alone Im on my own like a voodoo n***a if a n***a wanted to get ate what would you do n***a i was too cool with a group of n***as and they tripped on me gave em a Little nit of fame then they dipped on me but you know its all in the game tell A crip hommie to hit em with a slug at they brain thats what you get from me Crash dummie your careers defected and you aint sold a record last time i Checked it you just keep knockn i fell disrespected now yo neck got Disconnected by the lynch hung necklace ahh i leave emm red and dont eat the Head let the tek spi T and chop n***as down to the ground like judge dred comeing through the door Looking just like the feds and you call yo self a rap vet get out the bed and Let me f** her like she should be f**ed all in the bu*t with a 9 milli Swallowing nut and you can see me in black clothes creepin from the back dont Know how to act black blankets full of macs i usem as nut sacs and full body Sacs bet not let yo daughter out end up in the slaughter house chockin and Spittin chest open and bleedin and im f**ing her from the back and i hope that You see about it. Chorus