Artist Name: # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Song Title: # A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

U-god - Take 'em Home Lyrics

Yo, Yo Yo Yo
Yall know me, I got the sick talk
Other MCs is phony, They just a rip off
Boulders on my shoulders daily, Gotta chip on
Hand on my steel for real, Get my grip on
Exercise daily baby, Get my dip on
Big bone niggas see me, On the flip phone
Hydro home grown stone, In my slip ons
Write hood songs with them heavyweight bosses
Honey with the hips put her lips on my sausage
Paint a portrait, Then I pray at the alter
Then I shake the ground, I'ma pound your recorder
Every time I slaughter, Bring back the coast
The raw un-cut, Fuck the lactose
I don't slack off, No, He not a rookie
It's fucked up what Schwarzenegger did to Tookie
Off to a slow start, Look how long it took me

Smack you in your face, Knuckle you jooks, You buck at Judaism
Many different ways I could snuff you, Who the fuck are you
We all bleed, Flesh is soft, When a sharp blade hits
To say this, Rep it, I'm decrepit, Lets see ??? this
(Bitch) Necro cuts clits, Off with scissors
I fuck tits with my dick, Scorin like Fabio Frizzy
Music in gore flicks, I'm rippin your chain
Stick an ice pick in your brain, My shit is insane
The brutal is verbal murder, Sever cerebrums like a sledge hammer
Smash in your face, You heard it, I meant it, I mean it
Demented, Obscene, Should invent to get your feet cemented in blocks
And dropped over a bridge, Until your spleen's fermented
Danglin a custom neglejay, In front of a bitch's face
Hypnotizin, I'm makin her give me brain
Treat bitches like the piece of shits that they are, (Yo)
You'll wind up deceased bitch, If you don't pull them tits out your bra

I know your repetiteur, Psycho Logic on the disk
My heart piece is poundin, I'm mobbin with the lynch
We like Batman and Robin, We hopin off the bench
My hand piece is throbbin, To bang 'em with the wrench
I burn 'em to a crisp, When I turn into the Grinch
Cool down your jet baby, Wet 'em till he's drenched
If it don't make dollars, It don't make sense
If it don't politic, We don't break bread
The underground flava, Will wig heads
Yeah U-God and Necro, The eagles is screamin
Silver back gorillas, In bulletproof BMs
Get the fuck outta dodge, Let's blow this mausoleum

I got a big posse of kids that will dead you for me
I earnt that through respect, Loyalty, And integrity
Street royalty, Brooklyn and Staten will fuck you up
Psycho Logical Wu-Tang, Necro and U-God in the cut
My catalog is cryls, The death funk is robust
I keep my shit dirty like bums, And Dunkin' Donuts
Verse after verse, We don't bother with a chorus
We're gonna make a million, And have your father workin for us

U-god lyrics