Your Old Droog - Homicide lyrics

[Produced By El RTNC] [Verse 1] Keep it Thoro like Bandana P Take your wife on the canopy, she's like a can of peaches Don't bring sand to my beaches, I'm no fan of features When in the booth you smell fire Smoke an L with Elvira Leave the Philly blunts to Lily Munster To ask her what she really wants to do (Keep on talking) Ya hillbilly boo What's her name, Billy Sue? And I heard she put up the cash What makes you think I want to see the video when you're trailer trash You the type to run out of d** and rail your a** What a failure, fall back, you're too frail to clash Step up, get [Blocked?] like the cash ball Motherf**s still stuck on the last bar Moving forward, I got my own slang You can keep your old word like you made a promise [Hook] Hi, it's about to be a homicide, homicide It's about to be a homicide, homicide It's about to be a homicide It's about to be a homicide It's about to be a homicide, homicide It's about to be a homicide, homicide It's about to be a homicide It's about to be a homicide [Verse 2] Get you out of here like the sign that said Obama fried chicken Or the corner thirsty for a homicide or a stick and licking One false move, it's time to pay Ain't no saying peace or Namaste, I'm gone find out where your mama stay Fall the hell back, all Imma say (keep on talking) On that silly sh** scrapped, you really get slapped And none of my affiliates rap, pull off in a newer whip Testament to my entrepreneurship This units was shipped across the border It's f**ed up when a quart of juice don't even cost a quarter Rest in peace to home girl, a stray caught her in the aorta That's straight from Droog, the pissy hallway reporter Now back to you in the studio, see what the weatherman got to say Heard they raining bullets today [Verse 3: Prodigy] It's about to be a homicide, kids and mamas cry Toast to your d**h smoke till our eyes Bloodshot red, rum, murder, we k** em Emotionless, numb, no we don't feel them Cause dumb n***as deserve d**h I put his punk a** where all the foul n***as went Cross me f**er, feel my busta bust And I ain't talking bout rhymes, better duck