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funkoars - the assassination lyrics

[intro: trials]
you’re dead!

[verse 1: trials]
heltah skeltah, check the homeless shelter for dan
doctors do nothing, only televangelists can (it’s madness!)
i’ve got the medicine for anyone that let me in
little house in the styx singin’ hymns with benny hinn
call me crazy, rappers call me the livest
get together with they friends then call me on privates (woah!)
would you look at that? they stayed at home
and single-handedly started a movement to bring sookin’ back
f-ck outta here, i’m faded playing cod multiplayer
eat the bread around the mouldy layer (yo)
i’ve got a cardboard box on beef street
call in michael diamond – skeet, skeet!
i give the mic a hidin’; easy, sitting [?] to the tv
weekly, eyes lookin’ like steve buscemi
i’ve got the mic and they said, “don’t be cruel”
i said there is no god, only zuul (what’s the deal?)

[chorus: trials]
i’ve got a very good feelin’ things about to get bad (bad)
i get feelin’ things about to get mad (mad)
bad mood, uprisin’ on the street, no survivors
no one can hide, no one alive
got a very good feelin’ things about to get bad (bad)
i get the feelin’ things about to get mad (mad)
bad mood, uprisin’ on the street, no survivors
no one can hide, no one alive

[interlude: trials]
you leave the back door open? (that’s some idiot shit!)
you left the back door open? (that’s some idiot shit!)
you leave the back door open? (that’s some idiot shit!)
you left the back door open? (that’s some idiot shit!)

[verse 2: sesta & trials]
i’ve got the death letter, signed, sealed and delivered
if you considering tears try it, then cry me a river
and i’ll piss in it, listen, just look at the difference
it’s a smack-bang in the grill, gabrielle giffords
you got it, bang bang! cecilio, you’re needy [?]
get away in a big boat, nowhere to go to (bye-bye)
uploading photos of my anthony wiener
you got to load ’em in a big modem, n-body seen ’em
you gotta look at me, honestly
tell me when the f-ck did these bodies appear and how we get ’em off the property?
i’ll deal with it morally, (what?) just blame it on economy (oh)
now go and get some barrels ’cause we’re gonna do it properly
i’m tourin’ again, not bored with it yet
i bought another magazine and now i’m boardin’ a jet
if the plane goes down, i hope it causin’ a wreck
you call it karma, i call it cause-and-effect (you’re dead)

[chorus: trials]
i’ve got a very good feelin’ things about to get bad (bad)
i get the feelin’ things about to get mad (mad)
bad mood, uprisin’ on the street, no survivors
no one can hide, no one alive
got a very good feelin’ things about to get bad (bad)
i get the feelin’ things about to get mad (mad)
bad mood, uprisin’ on the street, no survivors
no one can hide, no one alive

[verse 3: hons]
when i hit it, you better put it down one time (one time)
for the river ’cause my b-lls in the line
now the ‘oars doing fine, new family home
with the golden era squad, guaranteed to be dope
and we top billin’ with a talent that god give ’em
policy of the quickening had to bring back the villain (h-llo!)
what up vents one, i rolled b-lls with this fella once
looking for that mellow buzz, ended up h-lla f-cked
little pill filled with ill shit like an enema
hotel room filled with girls that are scared of the… (boing) (huh)
these pricks so inconsiderate
till everyone around ’em in the tour party sick of them
finish ’em, i probably did that myself
two jugs at the bar, that’s my picture of health
tab ticket, top pocket, that’s my picture of wealth
my vices, death till [?] see yas in h-ll

[verse 4: vents]
me and trials like bosnia and herzegovina
come together, do work, keep stopping ya
vents, the funkoars, we the most furious five
you the most fabulous bi-curious guys
i bottled up the fury inside
and the anger i have as a charm, let it bang in the lab
microphone, joe mengele, angel of death
david koresh, the mad man, raised in the west
these rap cats is rugrats, playin’ with vents
that’s an idiotic move like shaving your chest
setty x, matt honson, very bad problem
kick you in the d-ck, get your toy piece stomped on
vents one, reign of terror
girls want to put my face on their chest like che guevara
could you guess what my favourite era? most cl-ssic
burn in a flame you b-st-rd, vents

[scratches: dj reflux]
“you’d be lucky-you’d be lucky”
“you’d be lucky-you’d be lucky”
“you’d be lucky-you’d be lucky”
“getting out the back door”

[outro: trials]
(you’re dead!) vents one on the beats, he gone through ’em
(you’re dead!) funkoars on the beats, they gone through ’em
anybody even try to oppose (stand back)
it’s the -ss-ssination of john newman

- funkoars lyrics

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