FLESH-N-BONE featuring Afta Maff

Are you ready for death?  Here's your cemetery plot.

Animosity pushes me to killa dreams in my sleep--fatal thoughts of puttin' punk bitches 6 feet deep.  My mental status destroyed, 'cause I was touched by the hands of tha sick, but I swear with a passion I'm a put 6 shots in this bitch [6 shots.].  I'm no security blanket, but I still feel the cold, even thinkin' murder mayhem when I was 6 years old.  Every now and then, I feel all close to danger, most of my life 'cause if it don't work, worry and anger.  Poisioned by demons, once upon a time my thought was pure, what will I endure in life?  I ain't, so I may never feel secure.  Cavi and switchblades, guns and such, driftin' through life and limpin' as if I needed a fuckin' crutch.  My slug to those who know the darkness that I reach, and those who pump me back everytime I buck, get freaked.  Now, I'm enraged and feelin' revenge--that makes my blood boil.  Pay back is a bitch, dirty nigga, and your brand this box.

Are you ready for death?  Here's your cemetary plot, that I got to be prepared for when you pussy-ass niggas drop.  Live soil, which means you're the walking dead, and when I blast that ass, I make you remember what you did and said.

I'm pullin' me gauges with me thugs, and givin' me thugs nothin' but love, and sendin me slugs to you muthafuckin' bustas.  That murderin' mayhem, off flippin' up on this shit, as I grabs my nine and puttin' it to your head real quick, and pullin' my trigger as I let you feel the damn pain.  Death is thought inside my muthafuckin' brain as the fire blaze in my eyes, I'm seein' demons.  I'm steady hearin', them muthafuckin' voices screamin'.  I stop the big game for some hell, if he don't have the solution, Big Mark is always there.  If not nine got me on my muthafuckin' square, and keepin' me puttin' them Teflons in your fuckin' (?).

The state pen for life is the home that I'm facin'.  Forty-four in my hand, and I'm caressin' it first, I'm just itchin' for the chance to pull the trigger.  I'm bustin' round, round, round, round on your ass, niggas, and how you figure that the game will pull your dead-ass weight?  If you ain't got the cash, then you ain't got the game.  Nobody wants a nigga when he's down and out, so see I'm creepin' on a come up witk two fours in your mouth.  I had visions of killin' you and your boys, retaliator had visions of killin' them, and they bodies got seperated.  I know ya hate it, but there's no other way around it.  Now picture this:  Big Mark got them full metal jackets to penitrate.  That 6 pack that you call a stomach, I seen your boys vomit when I release these lead bullets.  Pop 'em like duels, and fillin' em up like fuel, display it on my street--sense to this wannabe fool.  You're live soil.  That means that you're the walking dead, so when I blast that ass, you remember what you did and said, but you walking dead, ain't no comin' back, you at your resting place.  You live with the soil, so up to the wasteland [wasteland, wasteland, wasteland, wasteland, wasteland].

Now, you understand you live soil, muthafucka.

Are you ready for death?  Here's your cemetary plot, that I got to be prepared for when you pussy-ass niggas drop.  Live soil, which means you're the walking dead, and when I blast that ass, I make you remember what you did and said.

Niggas, I'm runnin' through them murda plots, simply ninas, they cocked, in my pocket these deep when I pull and pop, serve or hold, put it down for the double glock, slug hit when the bullshit stops, droppin' these shells as I bail make 'em live soil 'til this body smell, leavin' a trail of bloody footsteps.  Well, show no mercy, gotta send them to Hell under this murderous spell, Flesh, Kamikaze, (?) and Boss, can all be stalkin' niggas, caught 'em, caution, drop 'em in the coffin and fade across, y'all  loss.  Mo Thugs, the Shifters, and Hustla'z--you don't wanna see this organization, take off, will ya niggas, playa hatin' all over this nation, station, faced, locate in the wasteland, nothin' but heartless scandalous dealers, (pick an event/pig in a van) and don't start with the fuckas, hold up with the buck Mo Thugs gon' peel ya, carry the body to the cemetery that's where they lay 6 feet in a ditch.  We went with the shotty cockin', prepare to murder bitches, snitches, cops on my click.  Stop it!  Fuck with the Fifth, I'm loyal, when ya get the job done grand and royal.  Niggas got broiled, roasted in foil, makin' the grass turn green and (rotting in gas)--live soil.

Are you ready for death?  Here's your cemetary plot.

News Anchorman Eric:
We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring this special report live from downtown with David Elliot.
Reporter David Elliot:
This is disgusting!
David, are you there?
Yes, I'm here, Eric.
Yeah, what seems to be the problem?
The problem?  The problem is this is disgusting.  There's utter chaos everywhere.  It's just too soon to speculate what exactly happened, but there are unconfirmed reports that Flesh and Afta Maff have...have...have struck again.  Uh, I'm just a little sick to my stomach, so a we'll keep you posted as to what happens in the near future, but for now, let's go back to Kelly Lockett for the weather.  Back to you, Kelly.
Meteorologist Kelly Lockett:
Hi, this is Kelly Lockett.  Today's hot and sunny, so make sure you get on outside.

"Live Soil" Lyrics
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