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Текст песни Killah Priest - Bop Your Head

Killah Priest - Bop Your Head слова песни




[intro: killah priest]Yea, yea, yea, yea.Yea, yea. fuck that!Im set it off. yea, yea, ya shitted.Ya in some shit now, son.Its on now, mothafuckas can suck my dick.Im back! fuck that shit!Ready to eat niggaz up, beat they ass and erything, son.Ima prove this shit, right here.Me and my nigga. what!? [killah priest]The emperor, chief sinister, street ministerGuarenteed in two bars to finish yaReact like a cat when he arches backGive a fake rapper a heart attack, once I start to rapIm a vocalist, nigga, supposed to ripLast poets told me this, hit ya in ya head wit my explosive fistThen I finish ya off with my tremendous horse-kickWhat now, nigga? look at ya, talk shitCant do it, cuz you aint got no teeth in ya mouthAnd I know ya just tired of me, beatin ya outYa trained all year, in a karate classIt took one second, to put yo ass in a body bag>from a shotty blast, I walk up in ya club and ya parties dont lastI like to pop shit, dont get me startedI slap yall mothafuckas like yall little kids in kindegartenSqueeze yo head till yo kidneys hardenNow watch this, ima call my whole mothafuckin squadronAnd tell niggaz to just start robbinCuz yall niggaz is fucked upAnd brooklyn niggaz is really ready to get yaI know how to hit ya, and cut ya openBut dont worry, cuz ima stitch ya, with a rusty screwdriver[chorus: killah priest]Niggaz bop yo heads to this, real shitCall up yo clicks to this, its realnessYou feel this in yo streets and villageSpare that new shit, priest killed itY! niggaz bop yo heads to this, real shitCall up yo clicks to this, its realnessYou feel this in yo streets and villageSpare that new shit, bus killed it[canibus]Yo, yo, yoYo Im a macabeast mc and I possess the abilityTo run at top speed without bendin my kneesI destory shit, pin-point asteroids in orbitThen, hurl niggaz thousands of miles an hour, towards itFuckin heathen, wrap my hands around ya neck regionThen I start squeezin til ya stop breathinYou weaklins is playin tug-of-war wit ya tonguesI knock the teeth out ya gums and suck the breeze out ya lungsHit ya wit a blow your physical frame could never sustainYoull probably never walk ever againNigga, you think you rhyme sick? I leave you lyin stiffPull you behind my horse til I break ya spine, bitchStop cryin bitch, before I hit ya wit the iron, bitchYou cant rhyme bitch, the one triple nines mine bitchThe painll make ya voice change octaves>from low-pitched to high-pitched, every hour we kill a hostageWe judge mcs by they lyrical fitnessAnd punish djs for puttin corny stickers on they mixesSmack the stripper bitches for askin for our autograph and picturesYoull be scared to leave the club wit usYou scratch my back, Ill scratch yours bitchIll eat ya salt-fish, if ya suck my sausageI got an atomic sub, armed wit a sub-atomic scudReady to spill ya crimson-colored bloodThe four horsemen on the back of four quadropedsPuttin four hoof prints on ya foreheads, mothafuckas!(there it is!) so bop ya heads to that, uh (there it is!)[chorus][outro: killah priest]Fuckin pussy emcees, gon get a shot in the eyeYall niggaz talk behind niggas backsYall niggaz better bop ya mothafuckin heads before we blow it offYa fuckin perfume missin idiotsYall niggaz always runnin, go run and tell thatGo on, runnin, run behind somebodys backRun and tell that and take these fuckin slugs wit yaWe gon get ya mothafuckin clownYea...

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