[iPad, iPhone用户 点击这里播放]

点击下载歌曲：Dead People 

Graveyards in my pocket.
Tombstones in my wallet.
If you talkin’ ’bout my profit,
All I see is dead people.
All I see is dead people.
You starve so when my momma tryna make a couple dollars,
Any n*gga with a problem, they be dyin’ over dead people.
Muthaf-ckin’ dead people.

This sh*t gets deep.
Don’t f-ck with me.
You end up six feet deep.
Listen to how I did it.
I crept up slow on Willow.
Thinkin’ ’bout climbin’ through the f-ckin’ window.
In the backseat, potato burners.
Ski mask, body bag, duct tape, and a pillow.
In the front solo.
Sittin’ low with the lights out.
Feelin’ like Manson on some Sonny Sam sh*t.
With a murder on my mind that my mind on the homicide,
And my watch said they outta time.
Somebody gotta die, bottom line.
Front page, column nine.
Headline: Another Columbine.
I plan and plot and strategized, and thought about it.
Loaded up everything in the closet.
My objective is to get bloody.
They can beg and plead, yell and scream.
Try to leave, get in cheese, pray to God on they knees, but I’m still gettin’ f-cking ugly.
I f-ckin’ love it.
Took this n*gga by his throat and f-ckin’ cut it and thought nothin’ of it.
It’s simple insanity.
Just a murderous fantasy.
It’s simple insanity.
Just a murderous fantasy of mine.

(Man, I feel like killin’ me a muaf-cka.)

Last night, I must’ve had a blast choppin’ up bodies.
Woke up bloody as f-ck in the hospital lobby.
Body filled with adrenaline.
Not rememberin’ what I did to get all this blood on my f-ckin’ Timberlands.
Cop’s sayin’ I did what to him?
Showin’ me pictures of cut-up b*tches, disfigured members with body parts missin’.
Listen, I ain’t do sh*t, I don’t know sh*t.
Man, I don’t give a f-ck about that b*tch.
f-ck whatever she said, f-ck whatever she saw -it wasn’t me.
Oh no no, not me.
Listen to the alibi.
I was at the movies -that Avatar sh*t,
With them 3-D glasses on,
And that sh*t longer than muaf-cka.
Look at my pocket, get the tickets though.
That’s my alibi, b*tch.
Now what up?
Fresh out the cuffs, now I’m back on the outside,
And headed west where Homicide reside.
That’s my n*gga.
He live on 1st and 48th right next to the white chalk in between the yellow tape,
Behind the black gate.
Rottwielders and pitbulls, surrounded by snakes, AK’s and AR’s.
Some n*ggas hard to play, some n*ggas play hard
But that house right there -don’t go in they yard
It’s simple insanity.
Just a murderous fantasy.
It’s simple insanity.
Just a murderous fantasy of mine.

(Man, I feel like killin’ me a muaf-cka.)

Beware of dark sh*t., shot ’em through the fence
Tough offensive line men couldn’t stop the blitz.
Them n*ggas inside, a couple kittens
And this right here: good riddance.
n*gga f-ck around, its suicide for instance
Picture the mind of a bullet
Here I come -I can smell the flesh aimin’ for your head or neck.
n*gga, pray to God I won’t hit your chest.
Now here I come straight outta drum, headed for your lungs.
You in my sight.
The last one didn’t do it right,
And I’m waitin’.
Just lookin’ at you.
Thinkin’ ’bout it and gettin’ tired of lookin’ at you.
Hi, daddy, remember me?
Goodbye, daddy, this is what it gotta be.
You brought me in this world, now I’m takin’ you out.
Now you open up your muthaf-ckin’ mouth.
Simple insanity.
Just a murderous fantasy.
Simple insanity.
Just a murderous fantasy of mine.

(Now I feel like killin’ me a muaf-cka.)

林氏兄弟 嘻哈商店: 购买进入

（本文版权归 林氏兄弟 LINS BROS. 所有，未经许可不得转载。）