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brotha lynch hung - black market lyrics
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brotha lynch hung black market lyrics
Back to: Music Lyrics | BROTHA LYNCH HUNG lyrics
Artist: brotha lynch hung lyrics
Song: black market lyrics
 Send "Black Market" Ringtone to your Cell 
The year is 1994
Black Market Records, 2001 Records, and Doomsday Productions
Combined forces to create an unfadable click
Make way for the hounds of the underground
Feel the fury, hahhaahaha...
(PIT)
I put my hands in my pockets
They jingle cause they full of change.
Sometimes being broke'll make you fall astray,
Nut I got a better grip on myself.
So I avoid gettin played short like a elf.
Bust her side, bust her in the head,
Then watch al the yolk come runnin out his neck.
I'm tryin to stack a grip so don't let me hit this sticky,
Cause if I hit this sticky, I'ma shoot me a bitch.
Fuck it,, bang bang.
Five minutes later, the cops came.
I'm settin up shop for the black market.
So if I aim at your mark ass your a target.
Told you that I'd come, but I came insane.
Trhowin brain cell killas, scramblin niggas brains.
If you gotta go, you gotta go I like the 64'.
I'm pullin GTA's, it aint yours no more.
Then I take it and strip it down and leave nothin but the frame.
Then I'm gonna sell my cousin your gold thangs.
Copper burnin, turnin it like a flapjack.
Mo money mo money for black market.
(Chorus) X 4
On the black market, yeah
(Eklypss)
Creep and move with swiftness in the dark.
And aint no stoppin, once a nigga start.
And aint nothin new, up under the sun for days and days.
Under the moon, is where I was born and raised.
And Doom for life, nigga this aint no day life.
I love it, murderin muthafuckas in the night.
A Doomsta ready to make his mark, a underground target.
Hooked up with Black Market, now peep,
Shit gets deeper and deeper, meet me.
The Doomstown grim reaper, and PIT
Platinum, Mr. Doctor, Lynch Hung.
We do your ass in good just for fun.
Fifteen inches in your ass bitch.
Take it and love it, but I aint talking bout no dick.
14 suns and moons, somethin you can assume.
That on the 15th marks my day for doom.
Buck em and fuck em with Doomsday Productions.
Eklypss'll trip if I catch you fuckin with my grip.
You'll find your ass dead in a graveyard.
And I'ma continue on my...
[Brotha Lynch Hung]
What if you see me chewin baby guts locc.
Would you choke or vomit when that teflon pierce that baby's throat?
Peep me eatin dead cott.
You trip, cause eatin dead pussy clit'll make ya sick,
But it's that season so my reason is legit.
I'm havin fits, I've dreamed of eatin bloody pussy clit since I was 6.
I fien for dead pussy on my dick, I got the schitz.
Meanin I don't give a shit about yo biatch.
That nigga that's from the block killin off that cott.
So nigga, shit.
Baby barbeque ribs and guts, and uh.
Don't let me get to deep fryin baby nuts.
Sluts, get ate out like a date, them crooked teeth hurt.
I pull that tampax string out and straight put in work.
It wouldn't work without the sick.
So page a nigga quick, so I can serve you some of that shit.
And have you murderin your biatch, violently.
I've been keyed for 20 minutes and feel like killin,
Loadin that milli-milli it's that infant killa.
Nigga Lynch, Mr. Doc, D-O double M and hella heat.
Niggas unload, I need another dose of human meat.
I live to creep, and black ya death by the scene.
As that nigga that nigga that nine millimeter punch you in yo spleen.
(Chorus) X 4
On the black market, yeah
(Mr. Doctor)
You lay your eyes up on my.44,
And notice every curve in my strap.
As them tears roll down.
Flash yo life as ya fade to black.
If that gat wasn't all up in yo face.
Reminisce of yo folks, yo bitch, yo kids, yo fate.
Replace, take it down to the south, get deep.
Think of moms at your funeral locc, and all ya family, huh.
It's kind of crazy you could lose all of these things so quick,
And what's worse, nigga shot you for the fuck of it, yeah.
Never know I'd E the one to have your life in my hand.
(Brotha Lynch: That Ruger.44 Mag.)
That niggas life wont last, huh.
Keep listenin while I guide the gat right down into your throat.
Dig that barrel in your neck, watch your bitch ass choke.
No hope, no joke, I'm savin you the pain of old age.
All I ask for is your muthafuckin grip in exchange.
One to the brain, in the throat, out the skull.
From the big chrome gat, peeled cap, release your soul.
Now ya niggas know, one mo dead muthafucka on the street.
From the Mr. Doc, locc.
Straight to the brain with St. Ides brew.
The black market dealt murder when they saw me foo.
[Chorus] X 4
On the black market, yeah
Send "Black Market" Ringtone to your Cell
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