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The Coup

Piss On Your Grave

  hip-hop  rap  political  hip hop  political rap
400 3 часа назад

Текст песни The Coup - Piss On Your Grave

The Coup - Piss On Your Grave слова песни

(Chorus) Uhhhh!! I wanna piss on your grave! make me feel alright! Yaa Yaa Yaa!! (Repeat) While you was eatin` T-bone steaks in palatial estates, ornate with gates that automate so those you hate could only spectate, I was kissing my mate through iron grates while the guards wait, 50 cent rate for making license plates. My papermate pen shakes vibrates from 808 quakes over breaks dug outta crates that sag from weight of the vinyl plates... girls work till they back ache and their breasts con`t lactate you`re laughin` to the bank smilin`, showin` all your plaque flakes contesting, contesting 1,2,3 never shoulda been put in the penitentiary Boots from The Coup would like to say I`ll shove these foodstamps down your throat just to block your airway and that`s the fair way `cuz everyday you`re on a moola mission military killin` millions `til you low on ammunition bodies beyond recognition twisted complex positions then their kids work in your factories and die of malnutrition see your net profit stats hold some murderous facts but if you listen to the news you mighta heard it was blacks you got us herded in shacks I got the pertinent tax how `bout the one for when I bust my ass and you relax I`ll hit your head wit an axe play soccer wit` your brain to make it official slice your jugular vein still writin` songs that my momma could sang and if you feel some yellow drips on your skull it ain`t rain. (Chorus) That bitch ass on the front of a buck never gave a fuck he forced his black women slaves to give him dick sucks and when he bust a nut he`d laugh and cackle let the leather whip crackle send `em back to pick tobacco shackled wouldn`t give `em nil so his homies stacked bills fought on flatland and hill to keep the british out the till, scrill kept Washington dumpin` `em in ditches so slave owning son of a bitches could keep their riches which is how the war got funded with two centuries of juice from Black slaves bodies and the profits they produced you could deduce that these men might win fit right in and make rights then just for rich white men so they quit fightin` and wrote up a declaration protective decoration for their business operations a gorilla pimpin` nation, no freedom - just savage now the whole world`s ravaged from their hunger for the cabbage Your fifth period history teacher tellin` lies like a tweeker bump this song through the speaker watch they face get weaker `less they righteous and they kickin` the facts they gon` smile cuz this shit is on wax one thing I gots to ask George Washington down in hell can you see me? I`m standin` on your grave and I`m finsta take a pee-pee! Tour guide: Excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee? Boots: Nah, I said I love it here in D.C. Tour guide: Well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour. We`re here at the Arlington National Cemetary. Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the afro is standing, is the grave of of America`s first and greatest hero, our first president -- Pants unzipping George Washington Piss hitting the ground Ohh, uh-uhhhh. Cameras click (Chorus) Knock knock muthafucka, yes once again I`ll make you pay for your sins in the trunk o` your Benz see youse an always fitted always acquitted parasitic leech cain`t be burned off my back wit` no fiery speech your hands is soft as a peach cuz you ain`t never did work been rich ever since your daddy`s dick went squirt have you ever hurt from your back? ducked from rat-a-tat-tats? seen your mama on crack? lived in a pontiac? drank baby similac so you could have protein? (just for enough energy to hustle up some mo` green?) I could paint some mo` scenes vergin` on the obscene but I`d rather show up at your palace with a mob scene I spoke to my accountant who spoke to my attorney who counseled my financial advisor on a gurney it`s about fifty dollars and that`s almost like a sale cuz it costs too damn much to let your rich ass inhale true liberation ain`t no word in the head I`m yellin` murder `em dead for some fish, steak and bread you pay me 10 g`s a year, I pay you fifteen million hun`ed??? Sorry, you just ain`t in the budget... (Chorus)

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