"LIVE SOIL"
FLESH-N-BONE featuring Afta Maff
Are you ready for death? Here's your cemetery plot.
Kamikaze:
Animosity pushes me to killa dreams in my sleep--fatal thoughts of puttin'
punk bitches 6 feet deep. My mental status destroyed, 'cause I was
touched by the hands of tha sick, but I swear with a passion I'm a put 6
shots in this bitch [6 shots.]. I'm no security blanket,
but I still feel the cold, even thinkin' murder mayhem when I was 6 years
old. Every now and then, I feel all close to danger, most of my life
'cause if it don't work, worry and anger. Poisioned by demons, once
upon a time my thought was pure, what will I endure in life? I ain't,
so I may never feel secure. Cavi and switchblades, guns and such, driftin'
through life and limpin' as if I needed a fuckin' crutch. My slug to
those who know the darkness that I reach, and those who pump me back everytime
I buck, get freaked. Now, I'm enraged and feelin' revenge--that makes
my blood boil. Pay back is a bitch, dirty nigga, and your brand this
box.
Are you ready for death? Here's your cemetary plot, that I got to be
prepared for when you pussy-ass niggas drop. Live soil, which means
you're the walking dead, and when I blast that ass, I make you remember what
you did and said.
I'm pullin' me gauges with me thugs, and givin' me thugs nothin' but love,
and sendin me slugs to you muthafuckin' bustas. That murderin' mayhem,
off flippin' up on this shit, as I grabs my nine and puttin' it to your head
real quick, and pullin' my trigger as I let you feel the damn pain. Death
is thought inside my muthafuckin' brain as the fire blaze in my eyes, I'm
seein' demons. I'm steady hearin', them muthafuckin' voices screamin'.
I stop the big game for some hell, if he don't have the solution,
Big Mark is always there. If not nine got me on my muthafuckin' square,
and keepin' me puttin' them Teflons in your fuckin' (?).
The state pen for life is the home that I'm facin'. Forty-four in my
hand, and I'm caressin' it first, I'm just itchin' for the chance to pull
the trigger. I'm bustin' round, round, round, round on your ass, niggas,
and how you figure that the game will pull your dead-ass weight? If
you ain't got the cash, then you ain't got the game. Nobody wants a
nigga when he's down and out, so see I'm creepin' on a come up witk two fours
in your mouth. I had visions of killin' you and your boys, retaliator
had visions of killin' them, and they bodies got seperated. I know
ya hate it, but there's no other way around it. Now picture this:
Big Mark got them full metal jackets to penitrate. That 6 pack
that you call a stomach, I seen your boys vomit when I release these lead
bullets. Pop 'em like duels, and fillin' em up like fuel, display it
on my street--sense to this wannabe fool. You're live soil. That
means that you're the walking dead, so when I blast that ass, you remember
what you did and said, but you walking dead, ain't no comin' back, you at
your resting place. You live with the soil, so up to the wasteland
[wasteland, wasteland, wasteland, wasteland, wasteland].
Now, you understand you live soil, muthafucka.
Are you ready for death? Here's your cemetary plot, that I got to be
prepared for when you pussy-ass niggas drop. Live soil, which means
you're the walking dead, and when I blast that ass, I make you remember what
you did and said.
Flesh:
Niggas, I'm runnin' through them murda plots, simply ninas, they cocked,
in my pocket these deep when I pull and pop, serve or hold, put it down for
the double glock, slug hit when the bullshit stops, droppin' these shells
as I bail make 'em live soil 'til this body smell, leavin' a trail of bloody
footsteps. Well, show no mercy, gotta send them to Hell under this
murderous spell, Flesh, Kamikaze, (?) and Boss, can all be stalkin'
niggas, caught 'em, caution, drop 'em in the coffin and fade across,
y'all loss. Mo Thugs, the Shifters, and Hustla'z--you don't wanna
see this organization, take off, will ya niggas, playa hatin' all over this
nation, station, faced, locate in the wasteland, nothin' but heartless
scandalous dealers, (pick an event/pig in a van) and don't start with
the fuckas, hold up with the buck Mo Thugs gon' peel ya, carry the body to
the cemetery that's where they lay 6 feet in a ditch. We went with
the shotty cockin', prepare to murder bitches, snitches, cops on my click.
Stop it! Fuck with the Fifth, I'm loyal, when ya get the job
done grand and royal. Niggas got broiled, roasted in foil, makin' the
grass turn green and (rotting in gas)--live soil.
Are you ready for death? Here's your cemetary plot.
News Anchorman Eric:
We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring this special report
live from downtown with David Elliot.
Reporter David Elliot:
This is disgusting!
Eric:
David, are you there?
David:
Yes, I'm here, Eric.
Eric:
Yeah, what seems to be the problem?
David:
The problem? The problem is this is disgusting. There's utter
chaos everywhere. It's just too soon to speculate what exactly happened,
but there are unconfirmed reports that Flesh and Afta Maff have...have...have
struck again. Uh, I'm just a little sick to my stomach, so a we'll
keep you posted as to what happens in the near future, but for now, let's
go back to Kelly Lockett for the weather. Back to you, Kelly.
Meteorologist Kelly Lockett:
Hi, this is Kelly Lockett. Today's hot and sunny, so make sure
you get on outside.
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"Live Soil" Lyrics
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WasteLand Lyrics: The Art of Bone.
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