rozz dyliams - paramedics lyrics
[verse 1]
stepping to mine, you will find death and fantasy intertwined
deep inside, tales of the k!ller that walk in the corn stalks late at night
some in the air say it just ain’t right and what you feel is not a test
committing surgery on you busters when the hatred make me stressed
chopping you into confetti, with the machete, into a bl–dy mess
never mistarget as if i was sparking hollow point ballistics up into your head
hit up your funeral just to laugh, as they lower you, cold and dead
you say you want wicked sh-t but you don’t really want it when you see just how wicked it gets
there ain’t no safety when dylan gets p-ssed, i’m drowning you b-tches in p-ss
after you get pistol whipped to sh-t, i’ll have you wishing you could give your children one more kiss
i’ll send your baby mama your severed d-ck in the mail but the rest of you coming up missing
you tied to a chair with the tank top and gasoline dumped all over you about to get lit
enemies burn, wait your turn, you don’t know hatred, watch and learn
i’mma let the missile sizzle till you grissle in the urn
come feel my deadly words
my fantasies consist of you and your homies faces crying, slowly dragging on the curb
[chorus]
all you see is death, when you look into my eyes
rigor mortis creeping, feeling stiffing up your spine
eyes opened, fingers twitching, shaking, then you die
will your spirit drift away or get caught up in ledawy?
eyes opened wide
on the dead person was the only thing that ever scared me as a child but now its old mind
life is fine, bucking these b-tches down before they waste my time
but i take my time to leave the paramedics baffled, asking why
[verse 2]
think you a k!ller, but you’re just a minimal, nothing to a k!ller like dylan ross
jumping up on the scene looking meaner with every step i walk
gangsta walking, let’s get buck, put your sign, throw a four
f-ck the rapping lately, i’ve been doing human butcher work
evil man in delicatessence since the the castle of depression
moving on to bigger and better things to keep my pocket stretching
stretching just like spandex money bag, in another bank i keep on grinning
keep on sinning, knocking busters off and breaking down their women
most these b-tches think they something, because they got female genitals
i don’t give a f-ck you idiot, bring me money b-tch, you still ain’t special
you don’t get no special treatment, treat these b-tches just like rags
act up hoe and deal with this ’cause i don’t deal with all of that
haters talk sh-t until dylan come up from the ashes and then they start falling back
don’t come to me or no studio, g, if you want your wifey and your daughter back
strangled, f-cked and hacked to pieces, treating them just like the twamper sack
family vacation, destination meathook where you’ll all be at
[chorus]
all you see is death, when you look into my eyes
rigor mortis creeping, feeling stiffing up your spine
eyes opened, fingers twitching, shaking, then you die
will your spirit drift away or get caught up in ledawy?
eyes opened wide
on the dead person was the only thing that ever scared me as a child but now its old mind
life is fine, bucking these b-tches down before they waste my time
but i take my time to leave the paramedics baffled, asking why
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