Bad Hombres

Tucked the cannon in the lo fabric
 Slick Rick grills, 24 gold karats
 The Kimber K6s is so savage
 It blew his brains all over the ghost mattress
 The cartier vintage like ghost rabbits
 Man sent to Dennis Wilson crib, so lavish
 We went up in his face with a stone hatchet
 Southpaw, fight with the left like old fascists
 Throw shots from close angles
 Have his body laid out like a snow angel
 Apply pressure till they both strangled
 Arms dealer sell biscuits like Bojangles
 Empty clips, give 'em my all
 Small fry, I got choppers that are bigger than y'all
 No small talk money, just the jux and be gone
 I got shooters waiting for you if you look at me wrong
 Muerte
 12 gauges were perfect for these kind of jobs,
 cause they were intimidating.
 They were big, you know, rather than just a handgun
 We'd kick down these doors and,
 put the gun to their head and I'm just like: Look,
 if you don't give me my money... Then I'm gonna hurt you.
 A lot of times I didn't even need the money.
 I just did it because,
 it just gave me this fucking euphoric feeling and I was addicted
 Satan laughs as you eternally rot
 Young Baloff with the burgundy snot
 You get surgically shot
 Drive-by you in a cloud of that purpley pot
 Can you see with your Eyes Wide Shut? Certainly not
 And we all gon' die some day, slowly we rot
 Shooters might go get your funeral shot, ahk
 So choose wise who you keep within the circle of trust
 Tucked the swammy in the gut
 Tommy, hand me the blunt
 Speed forth like Z. York in the green orb
 Swing swords, careen towards enemy hordes
 Tear the face off my enemy's corpse
 Mob through heavenly armed
 The cause with these heavy metal songs and bars
 Standing on a cliff harnessing the source of the Ark
 Past the banana clip architects tortured in war
 Eye-patches on crisis actors
 Unrecognizable accents on ISIS captains
 Practice survival tactics
 Cut around your face. Rip your scalp, let it hang down.
 Rip your face off. And they put a mirror, in front of you,
 so you can get a real good look at
 yourself... Then cut your dick and your balls off
 Medina Arafat, return to the martyr's dream
 My squad gleams like October in the arts of fiends
 Cause Tuddy cooked a whole corpse until the barren clean
 Magazine melt your face away, it's guaranteed
 Roy DeMeo was the butcher from Flatlands
 Back of the garbage truck, we kill for pellets like Pac-Man
 Elegant Lou Duva body-parts in the cooler
 Got shooters up in the crib smell like gauze and hot tuna
 Diadoras, the fat tongues and the yeshiva clapping
 Break bread, black Rabbi with the heater action
 Def Leppard, pyromania, I torch and go
 Rifle nut 40 aught, khakis and baby scorpio
 Young friend it's Gore mortuary drape
 Called Paz so we burn the body raw till it was Frosted Flakes
 Nikki Sixx, the black corvette from Uncensored
 Stomp your head out rock corpse paint
 Like Jon from Dissection
 One of my first acts will be (sniff) to get all of the drug lords
 (sniff) all of the bad ones, we have some bad,
 bad people (sniff) in this country that have to go out.
 (sniff) We're going to get them out,
 we're going to (sniff) secure the border (sniff) and once the border
 is secure, at a later date (sniff) we'll make a determination as to
 the rest. (sniff) But we have some bad (sniff) hombres
 (sniff) here and we are going to get 'em out. (grunts and snorts)