Hurt Someone Songtext
von Twiztid
Hurt Someone Songtext
(Kurupt) Dog
Pound Gangsters!
Yeah, nigga!
Ride!
(DJ Quik)
I come from the darkness, the hardest place ever to mark this, body outline chalk-style, look at the carcass. (creep with me!) As I roll you down the dimly lit, ever tinted streets of Compton, a place where niggas throw grenades in the cemetery, I don′t even get it, the hatred is pretty scary, and since everybody's with it, tends to get a lil′ blurry 'til there's nothing right, niggas out in this calm again, to the niggas on the porch smokin′ bomb again...
Now they could be in the suburbs, on them brightly painted curbs.
Puffin′ the herb and lookin' for somebody to swerve on, but no!, it′s back to the hood again... where the enemys' prospects look good again, where the packs keep moving and the products got us caught up and fuckin′ our own lot up in heaven, our own niggas shot up.
It ain't us.
Wake up.
It ain′t us.
Wake up.
(Madrox)
From something to nothing n' truly amazing, like whimsical brushlines on Bob Ross paintings.
But this is psycho art, meaning the portrait would consists of body parts of unsuspecting victims, a leg n' an arm, a face and a mouth-hung, becomes the canvas for us to recite the convo, exchange chains like cinnabites and hook flesh, now you′re covered in blood my don′t you look fresh.
Picture it perfect like a photo shoot, rehearse, research the product and spit it up in the vocal booth, mellow-dramatic, an act of wickedness! In the essence that we exude to treat you people like a sickness!
We just came here to hurt somebody!
We just came here to hurt someone!
We just came here to hurt somebody!
We just came here to hurt someone!
(Monoxide)
You ain't even worth the download.
We come in six different covers, you ain′t even got a barcode?!
I'm in the sold-out club rockin′ the bomb show while you stand outside sellin' yer CD for survival.
I′m a revival of the wickedness, you want the title come and get it, this is not even your sickest spit, you put it in with a half of what I can hit you with, and I bet in about 16 seconds, you'll be stealin' it.
I′m into this with an interest to invent a new way to rid us of all your whack existence.
For instance, fuck resistance!
All who ain′t down can get dealt with!
It's business!
I′ll leave you chinless like a birth defect, kidnap your pops n' put your old earth to rest an′ i suggest, another way to impress, all the people in your life that you call friends, yeah!
(Daz Dillinger)
We came here to bring the drama and fear!
Clear it up perfectly!
Willingly to see the veneer!
I'm carrying like a ghost on america′s most west coast fuck ya up motherfucker, leave ya comatose.
Fresh out the dungeon, I run this to a '
T' Daz Dillinger, Dilligent, nigga, D.
P.
G.!
Old school, new school, Diggy acts a fool, efficient with the tool, breakin′ all the rules.
Spray ya block up!, knock up the baddest bitch, homie catch a hot one if you aint payin′ attention, This is what i do, You gots ta pay the pumps!
Niggas, now realize I'm the motherfuckin′ boss!
(Kurupt)
It's the flame that causes inferno, inflamate anything from your neck to your sternum, Kurupt, D.
A., motherfuckin′ givin' ′em Z's, infiltries of amazing degrees, There's too much turmoil, your hood turns to toil.
I got these special edition chucks, especially made for Snoop, Daz, n′ Kurupt.
They call biscuits, D-O-Double G-Y.
Biscuits.
The bitches love ′em, wanna see why?
Keep on yackin' n′ im a kick back by, kick yer daddy 'nis chest and buss ′em in his eye!
Dumpin' all yer homies that′r tryin' to ask why, 'cause...
Monoxide: I said...
Pound Gangsters!
Yeah, nigga!
Ride!
(DJ Quik)
I come from the darkness, the hardest place ever to mark this, body outline chalk-style, look at the carcass. (creep with me!) As I roll you down the dimly lit, ever tinted streets of Compton, a place where niggas throw grenades in the cemetery, I don′t even get it, the hatred is pretty scary, and since everybody's with it, tends to get a lil′ blurry 'til there's nothing right, niggas out in this calm again, to the niggas on the porch smokin′ bomb again...
Now they could be in the suburbs, on them brightly painted curbs.
Puffin′ the herb and lookin' for somebody to swerve on, but no!, it′s back to the hood again... where the enemys' prospects look good again, where the packs keep moving and the products got us caught up and fuckin′ our own lot up in heaven, our own niggas shot up.
It ain't us.
Wake up.
It ain′t us.
Wake up.
(Madrox)
From something to nothing n' truly amazing, like whimsical brushlines on Bob Ross paintings.
But this is psycho art, meaning the portrait would consists of body parts of unsuspecting victims, a leg n' an arm, a face and a mouth-hung, becomes the canvas for us to recite the convo, exchange chains like cinnabites and hook flesh, now you′re covered in blood my don′t you look fresh.
Picture it perfect like a photo shoot, rehearse, research the product and spit it up in the vocal booth, mellow-dramatic, an act of wickedness! In the essence that we exude to treat you people like a sickness!
We just came here to hurt somebody!
We just came here to hurt someone!
We just came here to hurt somebody!
We just came here to hurt someone!
(Monoxide)
You ain't even worth the download.
We come in six different covers, you ain′t even got a barcode?!
I'm in the sold-out club rockin′ the bomb show while you stand outside sellin' yer CD for survival.
I′m a revival of the wickedness, you want the title come and get it, this is not even your sickest spit, you put it in with a half of what I can hit you with, and I bet in about 16 seconds, you'll be stealin' it.
I′m into this with an interest to invent a new way to rid us of all your whack existence.
For instance, fuck resistance!
All who ain′t down can get dealt with!
It's business!
I′ll leave you chinless like a birth defect, kidnap your pops n' put your old earth to rest an′ i suggest, another way to impress, all the people in your life that you call friends, yeah!
(Daz Dillinger)
We came here to bring the drama and fear!
Clear it up perfectly!
Willingly to see the veneer!
I'm carrying like a ghost on america′s most west coast fuck ya up motherfucker, leave ya comatose.
Fresh out the dungeon, I run this to a '
T' Daz Dillinger, Dilligent, nigga, D.
P.
G.!
Old school, new school, Diggy acts a fool, efficient with the tool, breakin′ all the rules.
Spray ya block up!, knock up the baddest bitch, homie catch a hot one if you aint payin′ attention, This is what i do, You gots ta pay the pumps!
Niggas, now realize I'm the motherfuckin′ boss!
(Kurupt)
It's the flame that causes inferno, inflamate anything from your neck to your sternum, Kurupt, D.
A., motherfuckin′ givin' ′em Z's, infiltries of amazing degrees, There's too much turmoil, your hood turns to toil.
I got these special edition chucks, especially made for Snoop, Daz, n′ Kurupt.
They call biscuits, D-O-Double G-Y.
Biscuits.
The bitches love ′em, wanna see why?
Keep on yackin' n′ im a kick back by, kick yer daddy 'nis chest and buss ′em in his eye!
Dumpin' all yer homies that′r tryin' to ask why, 'cause...
Monoxide: I said...
Writer(s): Paul Methric, Jamie Spaniolo Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
