Album Name : The Money Store
Release Date : 2012-04-20
Song Duration : 2:56
Death Grips Bitch Please
Who wanna catch dis
Bitch please, you must be smokin rocks
Real shit for my people
And it just don't
Fucker please you must be smokin rocks
Real shit for my people
And it just don't
Drop it like... oh yeah
That's so trashy
How low can you go,
How dirty can you get... nasty f..cker
Drug through the dirt
Razor cut that eight milimeter make it hurt
Chain sleaze leather face
Fucker please, you must be smokin rocks
Kill it, kill it,
Kill it, kill it
Hit it, f..ck it, feel it, whip it, burn it, turn it out and kick it to da
Curb
Shut it down
Forged in the flames, said it before and I'll say it again... quazar game
Maximum vacuum rotation spin s-s-s
(Bitch please)
When shit goes down
I'll be there
Wit my hand on my gun, and my eyes on the road ghost ridin ta hell f..ck if
I care... who wanna catch my droze
Give a f..ck blood
I aint goin nowhere
Templar night and day, live an die by the code, code of the street, how ta
Stay in the zone, how I own it and freak it to da base of da bone
I am the darkness creeping through your system
The lash of da whip
Cracking every bitch
Into position
Workin ya over crashing and burning in a blackhole blasting out, your
Subwoofers are melting... hear a bitch say why's he yelling
Who wanna catch dis gun clap, shrapnel off me lip
Cause blood bath
(Bitch please)
Cuz I run this lik
Like dogtown ripped
That raw shit like none other
Low down dirty shit
Shot off this hip
Death grips, mothafucka
Please, you must be
Smokin rocks
Real shit for my people
And it just don't