音效
界面
难度等级
口音
界面语言
1
和/或在社交方面支持我。网络:
Hitman For Hire
[Red Cafe] Want a
hit? Gimme an hour plus a
pen and a
pad Now when go down.. y'allll Who won't stop it? When them things get cocked who won't pop it? Who's trying to slow down the
quick come up? Of a
hitman, what wha what what [Verse: Malice] You can tell by the
walk and by how the
chain swing Got the
kinda money most niggaz ain't seen Most niggaz never pushed that machine With 350 plus of pure horse power And the
fact that I
push pure powder To the
point of no return is something I
ain't proud of Let the
plush jewels symbolize the
love For the
karats on the
wrist I
tend to spend just because My life no less a
dream at best Lured her loving from London from where the
Queen rests Pimpish me took her straight to Mickey D's When she ordered her Royal wit cheese Shit, my whole clique pop Cristal wit ease And pop pistols wit even more ease Shit, we do the
shit that you can't conceive And I
would hate having your mother grieve, motherfucker! [Chorus] [Clipse:] I'm a
hitman for hire [R Cafe:] You want work put in I'll have that work put in [Clipse:] I'm a
hitman for hire [R Cafe:] You lookin for a
gangsta, I'm a
gangsta [Clipse:] I'm a
hitman for hire [R Cafe:] I
handle my business, you don't like me handle your business [Clipse:] I'm a
hitman for hire [R Cafe:] You lookin for a
gangsta, I'm a
gangsta [Verse: Red Cafe] Uh, the
boss of my days is back playa Talk greazy, we don't call it rap playa Easy, Izzah they say I'm special They like the
seven but, love me in that S
Coupe My boxes used to have horses, aight Now I'm soaking the
Boxster Porsches, aight Got princess cut in my crosses, aight Enough to make them coppers nauseous aight Now I
been shot in the
neck, that was almost fatal Now I'm the
Shoot-a-Homie never under the
navel I'm in they hood like illegal cable Shakedown, 911's a
joke in my town I'm bitch-nigga proof, 180 proof, liquor proof I
got to make a
nigga disappear, trigger poof! Coach said I
wasn't good wit my jumpshot So I
get upclose when I'm bucking my toast, Izzah! [Chorus] [Verse: Pusha T] Big city rolla, pind diamond rose gold Like strawberry Quik was spilled on his shoulder EGHCK! all soldier, top shots out chrome glocks Keep gun coupled, ghetto version of Noah He will make your soul float, fuck wit the
next man In this hand I
got the
tool for making ghosts Beats to the
corner, Ben Wallace in the
post I
send ya to the
place where the
coroners ya host EGHCK! Not living, I'd rather be choking off fumes in someones kitchen Counting money, but these niggaz won't keep their distance So I
let these nines assist them See my presence covers the
block like a
duvet Haters trying to guess what you weigh Pusha gives a
fuck what you say I
make corners tumble like Cirque du Soleil [Chorus] [Outro: Pusha T] Uh yeah, Track Masters Shakedown, Red Cafe wit the
Clipse Uh uh, yeah, we them hitmen for hire
完毕