Murder

(album: Ridin' Dirty - 1996)

[Verse 1: Pimp C]
I'm still Pimp C bitch so what the fuck is up?
I'm putting powder on the streets cause I got
Big fucking nut's coming back from Louisiana
In a Fleetwood Lac <<corrected
I just served them nigga's shit to put them feinds on they back
Got the pound goin for four cause you know I just
Pay two nigga bought thirty from me
So I fronted forty two, he gonna pop to seven hundred
Times sixty two, twenty four eight is what I do
So nigga fuck what 'cha do
If I told ya cocaine number's you think I was lying
Young ass nigga's twenty two talking bout they retiring
In the game ain't a thang coming forgien in benz
Rick ass home two apartment's where I entertain
Friends mo bounce to the ounce
Cause the bomb the shit, I done got me
Fifty ounces out of a bird in dis bitch
Tighting up no slackin bitches checking my stock
Got some Birds I sell to niggas some I go rock for rock
Just got back from California kicked it with B-Legit
Put me down with purple chronic and that hurricane shit
At the studio with Tone, man I wish I could stay
I got to holla at Master P, cause we got money to make
Were big playa'z from the South stack gee'z man
Like Ball I got to stack big cheeze man
Bitch say he wanna show ya
You got nine grand I ain't rapping shit
Till my money in my hand
South Texas mutherfucka that's where I stay
Getting money from yo bitches every
Got damn day
Big paper I'm folding
Hoes is on my mutherfucking jock
For all this dick I be holding
I hate clone man show it
Especially if a fool take our style and
Act like my nigga's don't know it
I kick it with the trill nigga's so you best's
Not trip if ya keep on talking shit
My nigga empty clips
Hoe azz nigga

[Chorus:]
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder

[Verse 2: Bun-B]
Well this Bun-B bitch and I'm the king
I'm moving chickens got 'em finger licking
Sticking nigga's dat be tripping
You need a swift kicking yo azz is right for the picking
Now as my pocket's thicken
I be thinking nigga's slipping you sick
When I be clicking now take a look at the
Bigger nigga Malt liquor swigger
Playa hata ditch digger figure
My hair trigger give a hot one in yo liver
You shiver shake and quiver
I'm frivoulous of a nigga you wetter den a river
For what it's worth it's the purpose some nigga's doing dirt
Fuck her first now take off her skirt
Make the pussy hurt Mister Master
Hit the Swisha faster then fever bilstar
Blister bastard fuck her sister faster
Peep the Elbows for sale yo
Brother better have my mail hoe
Before I catch a murder case and go to jail oh
Hell no, time to bail hit the trail so
We can sell mo fucking yayo get the scale
No other bullet duckers can sove up
Out of this game they better buck us
Cause the clucker's they love us
Make them class dick suckers
Shake they jelly like smucker's
I hit like nun-chuckers
Cause Short Texas bring the ruckus
This for my mufuckas
Cooking cheese to crooked geez
Rocking up quarter key's
Just to get the hook with ease
Wanna bee's get on yo knee's
Feel the squeeze from them HK one three's
From here to over sea's
We do what we please
Don't trip cause we flip
Light up a dip
I'm breaking 'em off from they hip to yo lip
Go ask that boy Skip
That nigga Bun rip
With one clip, soon as the gun slip
Now I done ripped out my barrette
Flying through yo pelle pelle and
Some smelly red jelly is dripping out of ya belly
Serving 'em up like a Deli jumped on my cellular telly
Hoe sell it like it's going out of style
You can't see me Marcus so have a
Motherfucking Sweet and smile.

[Chorus:]
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder