warning when he'll strike Legacy of his tragedy Born to kill for his mother's sins Twisted mind living to kill Now you'll die, blood will spill The body count
when he'll strike Legacy of his tragedy Born to kill for his mother's sins Twisted mind living to kill Now you'll die, blood will spill The body count
Traduzione: Cancro. Body Count.
Cancer ! My time is short. Save me ! I can count my days. My body hurts. Save me ! When will be the time that I die ? Hope is fading. Save me ! Thoughts
make your body splatter With the ill-type flow, a wild renegade Blowing niggas up for dough and just getting paid Yo my style eats through, it's like cancer
Chorus] (Go) go, go, go, go, go and on the count of three (Go) go, go, go, go, go and on the count of three (Go) go, go, go, go, go, go Uh, on the count
Go) go, go, go, go, go and on the count of three (Go) go, go, go, go, go and on the count of three (Go) go, go, go, go, go, go Uh, on the count of
your body you ain't got enough fingers to count that high after you lose, swallow my chief of rings you'll be crying so much your putrid smelling body
(Go) Go, go, go, go, go and on the count of three (Go) Go, go, go, go, go and on the count of three (Go) Go, go, go, go, go, go Uh, on the count of three
bleed Who's counting when it way past plenty There's too many twenties There's too much hush money being passed in the joint Too many bodies hidden behind
Whirlwinds of French, come movin' intense Time to pull again, release the shell Well, make 'em yell again, so sleek but I'ma be maxin' in suites Countin' your paper and countin
of them King Kong and Godzilla mixed up together While I'm blessing them It's wrong for niggas to mix us together Cus I'm better than every fucking body
me soon Fighting for you I'll tear up you bodies taste the sweet smell of blood Slow death I cause and nightmares I bring Dying culture no more money counts
in a few seconds' time: In a drop of anal red the poison And your totally disgusting diseased unkempt disgusting excuse of a body Continues to react Till mere days after the cutting The cancer
count Soon the graft had taken, I was on the road home As I was discharged we prayed that all would work Weeks of pain followed as my body fought to
I doubt ya fly, peep the poison heres enough for an amount to die, and the holes in ya body you aint got enough fingers to count that high. after you
o.k. - lets get it out - enough with the small talk i can count your lies like cracks on the sidewalk same old stories of when we used to hang out
