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brotha lynch hung - ya brains lyrics

i just got to the house, you know what i’m sayin’?
got the phone call, got all the information, you know what i’m sayin’?
had to run back to the car, pulled out the back of the garage, you know what i’m sayin’?
next thing you know:

[verse 1: brotha lynch hung]
my meal watching for the police
red beems, i’m gangsterly known, we getting no sleep
’bout to make a problem, control all, delete, we get no peace
the pac pieces, hold your stomach like [?]
turn non-believers into believers
with the colt seavers and i’mma creep, keeper, ripper
doin’ blows, blowin’ on reefer
it’ll be cheeper, get deeper then cut ‘er up in little meat pieces
put ‘er in the freezer
i guess you can call me the mad butcher
i got a little corner where i can put ya ’til it’s time to eat ya
beat beater, meat leaker, meat cooker, heat seeker
meat eater, bleedin’ your speakers with heaters
smellin’ up on premium, not a m-th-f-cka see me
i’m a custodian, cleanin’ ’em up, cleanin’ ’em off
you mushroom soup, you must be soft
you jerkin’ your jimmy, guzzling and still can’t come off
i’m workin’ with sickness, i’m all stressed out, skinny
tryna get them billion pennies
n-gga i do anything, let me put it on the bullet
and put it in your brains mane
watchin’ them n-ggas brains hang out after i pull that thang out
i be spittin’ them hot spits like shots rang out
like aj, mayday, mayday, f-ck what they say
i’m permanent, put you back in a hole
like if bill gates was runnin’ sh-t
you microsoft, i’m well-done like hot sauce
catchin’ everything you sayin’ like randy moss and runnin’ with it
you spit it, i done did it, you own it, my gun did it
you hold it, my crew hold it, you load it, my dude’s loaded
hold up i leave it cold enough
like ice cream splatter your pipe dream and stole your stuff
i’m low down and dirty with a four pound, ya heard me?
the game’s curvy, so i shake ’em n-ggas like james worthy
you can blame hershey, god left us all f-cked up
nah, i’m like – f-ck ’em, stuff ’em
the talk is nothin’, chuck ’em, gut ’em up and
i done ‘nough, see if you come back with the same
i might have to put it on the bullet, put it in your brains mane

[verse 2: g-macc]
ey, go get another by chris (on itunes)
let’s get back to the song, black duffel bag
in leather gold, we got the empty
finna get your colt, get out the semi
’bout to go calico, let out the .50
animal, at your throat, here comes the grizzly
she’s lying there lifeless, vicodin, ivs
p-p-put the needle, i mean syringes
fetal position, y’all wanna see some dead b-tches? (where?)
listen to mannibalector, i’mma behead the b-tch
put the lead in the b-tch, yessir
still got the oa, spit out the whole
a bullets sticking out the window, pull it
put it up, get out the area without the full clip, it’s empty
[?] brain in a [?]
finna get mad, picking up the mag, put it in your back
fill ’em up with that crack
put the knife, get your neck sliced
i used to smoke pounds of weed
house of the evil, ’bout to go deep throat
another ounce and leave, you can get the axe
i’m a cat burglar, i found your niece and your nephew
’bout to put the tec to ’em, then i mouth for the evening
seventy rounds and i keep leaning out the mustang
’bout to bust ’em at you after we [?] in the morning after b-tt game
wanna f-ck with us? throwing up the [?] m-th-f-ckin’ [?]
put aids in the straight razor, i start to cut ’em

- brotha lynch hung lyrics

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