Solomon Childs - Murda sh** lyrics

[Intro: Solomon Childs] You going already right? Uh, huh Ya'll n***as get it, right? Hahaha, you get it, uh [Chorus: Solomon Childs] It's that real live murda sh** This that real live, kick a n***a in his dick This that straight live, I'm just saying This that real live murda sh**, I ain't playing It's that real live murda sh** This that real live, pop a n***a in his hip This that straight live, I'm just saying This that real live murda sh**, I ain't playing [Solomon Childs] My entourage live by the gun code Ritual over pit bull blood, animals deceased Infested venom, when I spit blood in these raps I put rats on they back Or in a hole, where it's wet and cold I put a bullet in your big head b**h, with a big nose Fronting like Beyonce Knowles, split your beer gut Like a fat pig, bury you alive where you can't dig ya way out Penitentiary war, you got no clout Your time's running out old man And automatic's don't jam This is murda sh**, brought by heavy demand n***a bow to the young Al Qaeda Or get dragged through the town like a traitor Starsky music, n***a, pay notes I get head from hoes that resemble Pepper Dennis, like John Stamos (White b**hes, n***a!) [Chorus] [Solomon Childs] Uh, black opera, wild safari Jungle Menanti, heavyweight sypnosis Follow, or you'll be added to the d**hlist n***a, die fast, pain in my upper a** I'm dying already, so ain't nothing for me to blast Dishonor before d**h, automatic's spit side arm from the left The Tali' glitch, cold kick, I send 'em at ya baby mother, you b**h No h*mo, when you walk, you switch When the sonic flu color, breath from the nose of the cannon you snitch Certified hoodlum n***a, lived that boulevard terrordome Centerfold military edition of Rolling Stone, with power, like Brian Nichols caught off with the chrome I spit a straight insilin coma Magnified, n***a, the sea stone roamer [Chorus]