Meyhem Lauren - Terror d**h Camp lyrics

(Statik Selektah) [Verse 1: Action Bronson] Queens, New York Flushing sh** (We backkkk againnnnn) That's right Yo Sour smoke out the nasal The Pad Thai noodle topped off with basil Sistine Chapel rapper, I'm here to blaze you Pop off material, get laid up n sprayed up just like arterial Clementine nine, dripping venereal Linguine linguistics that left my verbal lesson saucy Send a message, leave you sleeping next to headless horsey Play the plaintiff, I'mma slide off to prior engagements Let you die in the basement/Toast wine from the time of the ancient- Turkish warriors, cobblestones in Macedonia Albanians in Shkup...never living by the book We fill the jails in France, Uzes and Italy Never do dirt on our own land That sh**'s forbidden, G Hoxha singing from the top of the Xhamia Pickled peppers at the picnic table Feta cheese, perfect Flia Straight outta Dukagjin One of the illest places No one's smiling There's only drunken men with k**er faces [Verse 2: Meyhem Lauren] I'm known for simmering the mean gravy Gleam crazy, my mind's hazy New York made me The most official, to holster pistol Trim the fat, scrape the gristle Meyhem Lauren will make your family miss you I'll gladly press the trigger bu*ton If you press an issue Whether it's beef or beats I try to make a casket fit you We'll f** you up then f** you up And then come back to get you And do that two more times We call that sh** a triple triple My flow is typhoon rap, it's deeper than an ocean ripple Our hollow tips will hit you Leave you with an altered nipple Slumped over saying "Lord, please have mercy" Or play the G, now we made hot flames burst me Queens veteran, dressed like tennis men Back block medicine, slap chop venison Knock, knock, let us in My whole clique's equipped to shoot though My army got more f**ing arms than a can of pulpo [Verse 3: Maffew Ragazino] Brownsville's Jesus, white and blue Adidas Got more knowledge than them Poor Righteous Teachers Clarence Smith, Stan Smith, 13X's Some will overstand but common men never receive the message Concepts like I'm Frank Butcher Neighborhood pusher, 62's through ya sub woofer Unca nunca for the pitbulls with red noses Wet bogies dipped in sh** to stop bodies from decomposing Cool, calm and collected Keep my composure All my business in black and white like negative exposures Keep a Polaroid for the posers A picture's worth a thousand words So lock and load up You don't know me from a hole in a commode, bruh I am the sh**, just ask your b**h I bet she know, yup It's St. Maffew Truffles in that duffle Princess in the catsuit [Verse 4: AG Da Coroner] This is dope fiend rap Have a n***a leaning sideways Frankie Blue Eye sh** I do it my way Legendary, scary, February Valentine murder Ike Turner, gun bu*t with a nice burner Bluey spot guzzler Long Island Tea sipper Mind of a k**er Trenchcoat Mafia n***a Hollow point slinger Smile while I'm flipping fingers Angels and demons Mellowed out, Stylistic singer Corner store postup Backstreet wanderer bu*ter your toast up Tight p**y conqueror Smart aleck, talk back, type of n***a f** you Disrespect your mother, your brother Father and son, too (everybody!) Long live the music cause it's part of my blood But how long can I stay breathing Only God is my judge Through the lights, cameras and action Glammer, glitters and gold Every legend repping my era Carries part of my soul (90's, n***a)