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brotha lynch hung – black market lyrics

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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
but 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 b-tch
f-ck 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 -ss your a target
told you that i’d come, but i came insane
throwin brain cell killas, scramblin n-gg-s 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 over 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 n-gg- 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, n-gg- this aint no day life
i love it, murderin m-th-f-ckas in the night
a doomsta ready to make his mark, a underground target
hooked up with black market, now peep
sh-t gets deeper and deeper, meet me
the doomstown grim reaper, and pit
platinum, mr. doctor, lynch hung
we do your -ss in good just for fun
fifteen inches in your -ss b-tch
take it and love it, but i aint talking bout no d-ck
14 suns and moons, somethin you can -ssume
that on the 15th marks my day for doom
buck em and f-ck em with doomsday productions
eklypss’ll trip if i catch you f-ckin with my grip
you’ll find your -ss 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 cot
you trip, cause eatin dead p-ssy cl-t’ll make ya sick
but it’s that season so my reason is legit
i’m havin fits, i’ve dreamed of eatin bl–dy p-ssy cl-t since i was 6
i fein for dead p-ssy on my d-ck, i got the schitz
meanin i don’t give a sh-t about yo b–tch
that n-gg- that’s from the block killin off that cott
so n-gg-, sh-t
baby barbeque ribs and guts, and uh
don’t let me get to deep fryin baby nuts
sl-ts, 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 n-gg- quick, so i can serve you some of that sh-t
and have you murderin your b–tch, violently
i’ve been keyed for 20 minutes and feel like killin
loadin that milla-milla it’s that infant killin
n-gg- lynch, mr. doc, d-o double m and h-lla heat
n-gg-s unload, i need another dose of human meat
i live to creep, and black ya death by the scene
as that n-gg- that n-gg- 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 b-tch, 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, n-gg- shot you for the f-ck of it, yeah
never know i’d e the one to have your life in my hand
(brotha lynch: that ruger.44 mag)
that n-gg-s life wont last, huh
keep listenin while i guide the gat right down into your throat
dig that barrel in your neck, watch your b-tch -ss choke
no hope, no joke, i’m savin you the pain of old age
all i ask for is your m-th-f-ckin 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 n-gg-s know, one mo dead m-th-f-cka on the street
from the mr. doc loc
straight to the brain with st. ides brew
the black market dealt murder when they signed me foo

[chorus] x 4
on the black market, yeah