king fantastic - the lost art of killing lyrics
[verse 1: k!ller reese one]
say buddy you in my lane
you backing up the game, you lame, you want fame
i can give it to you daddy
i ain’t took my meds for weeks and i am feeling f-cking batty
so if i put the tip of this fifth to your d-ck-sucking lips
and i give you the whole clip
then we both get what we want
you get on the front page and i get one less chump
i encourage all frogs to jump
i heard they taste like chicken, and my b-tch’s in the kitchen
with a pot of hot grease, and a couple side dishes
go figure no meat
slice this n-gga up so we can eat
k!ller reese is on the raps, troublemaker’s on the beat
you dudes be talking so street
and that talk be sounding tough until you gotta talk to me
the authentic is off limits
you don’t talk to the truth if you talking about gimmicks
i am the game, i’m not in it
that means fifteen years not fifteen minutes, n-gga
[hook]
let’s cheer for the bad guy
clap when he get away, live to k!ll another day
here’s a toast to the cutthroats
n-ggas who ain’t on a list that don’t mind gun smoke
to my life-time criminals, remind ’em what fear is, we tired of that weird sh-t
and if you feeling how i’m feeling put your drinks in the air for the lost art of k!llin’
[verse 2: k!ller reese one]
they call me reese de uno, the sumo
used to push d, like kool moe
you know i’m the realest n-gga to do this
got a crew of real spitters that’ll murder this new sh-t
i encourage la to stay away
from the techno pop of the day, that sh-t is g-y
the good ol’ years i talk about
is when the loud mouth n-ggas still got stomped out
now everybody so p-ssive-aggressive
you get locked up for teaching n-ggas a lesson
but there’s only so much testin’
i can take before i break and i expose my weapon
i’m out here la reppin’
last of the heathens, dark heart still beatin’
i’m on the west side, geekin’
this is the turf that i stick my cleats in
[hook]
let’s cheer for the bad guy
clap when he get away, live to k!ll another day
here’s a toast to the cutthroats
n-ggas who ain’t on a list that don’t mind gun smoke
to my life-time criminals, remind ’em what fear is, we tired of that weird sh-t
and if you feeling how i’m feeling put your drinks in the air for the lost art of k!llin’
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