Murder Songtext
von UGK

Fuck this motherfucker, he just got love, you know what I mean?
Because we got to get out here, ain′t no place here for us
You know what I mean? But that motherfucker, I need to kill him
That's all

Murder (huh), mur-
Murder (talkin′ 'bout a murder), mur-
Murder (huh), mur- mur-
Murder (check it out)

I'm still Pimp C bitch, so what the fuck is up?
Puttin′ powder on the streets ′cause I got big fuckin' nuts
Comin′ back from Louisiana in a Fleetwood 'Lac
I just served them niggas some shit to put they fiends on they back
Got the pounds going for four ′cause you know I just paid two
Nigga bought 30 from me, so I fronted 42
He gon' pop for 700 times 62
24, eight is what I get, so nigga, fuck what you do


If I told ya cocaine numbers, you would think I was lyin′
Young-ass niggas, 22, is talkin' 'bout they retirin′
In the game, ain′t a thang, comin' foreign with Benz
Brick-ass home, two apartments, where I entertain friends
More bounce to the ounce ′cause the Brougham the shit
I done got me 50 ounces out a bird in this bitch
Tighten up, no slack, bitches checkin' my stock
Got some birds I sell to niggas, some I go rock for rock

Just got back from California, kicked it wit′ B-Legit
Put me down wit' 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
And when playas from the South stack Gs, man
Like Ball, I gotta stack big cheese, man
Bitch say he want a show, you got nine grand?
I ain't rappin' shit until my money in my hand

South Texas, motherfucker, that′s where I stay
Gettin′ money from your bitches every Goddamn day
Big paper, I'm foldin′ (foldin')
Hoes is on my motherfuckin′ jock for all this dick that I be holdin'
I hate clone men, show it
Especially them fools that take our style and act like my niggas don′t know it
Kick it wit' the trill niggas, so you best not trip
If ya keep on poppin' shit, my nigga, empty the clip, hoe-ass nigga


Murder, mur-
Murder, mur-
Murder, mur- mur-
Murder
Murder, mur-
Murder, mur-
Murder, mur-mur-
Murder

Well, it′s Bun B, bitch, and I′m the king of movin' chickens
Not them finger-lickings, stickin′ niggas that be trickin'
You need a swift kickin′, yo' ass is ripe for the pickin′
Now as my pockets thicken, I'm deep-thinkin', nickel-slickin′
You sick when I be clickin′, now take a look at the bigger nigga
Malt liquor swigger, player hater, ditch digger
Figure my hair trigger, give a hot one in yo' liver
You shiver, shake, and quiver, I′m frivolous if a

Nigga get wetter than a river, for what it's worth, it′s the birth
Of some niggas doin' dirt, fuck her first night, take off the skirt
Make her pussy hurt, Mister Master, hit the
Swisha faster, than you fever blistered bastards, fucked
Your sister, passed her, fifty elbows for sale, yo′
Brother better have my mail, hoe, 'fore I catch a
Murder case and go to jail, oh hell no, time to bail
Hit the trail so, we can sell mo' fuckin′ yayo

Get the scale, no other bullet duckers can shove us
Out of this game, they better buck us, ′cause the cluckers, they love us
Make them glass dick suckers shake they jelly like Smucker's
I hit like nunchakus, ′cause short Texas bring the ruckus
This for my motherfuckers, cookin' cheese to crooked Gs
Rockin′ up quarter keys to get the hook with ease
Wanna-be's get on your knees, feel the squeeze from them
HK13s, from here to overseas

We do what we please, don′t trip 'cause we flip, light up a dip
I'm breakin′ ′em off, from they hip to your lip, go ask that boy Skip
That nigga Bun rip, wit' one clip, soon as the gun slip
Now I done whipped out my Barrelli, flyin′ through
Your Pelle Pelle and some smelly red jelly is drippin'
Out of ya belly, served ′em up like a deli, jumped on
My cellular tele', hoe sell it like it′s goin' out of style
You can't see me, Marcus, so have a motherfuckin′ Sweet and a smile

Murder, mur-
Murder, mur-
Murder, mur-mur-
Murder