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Blaze Ya Dead Homie




Music World  →  Lyrics  →  B  →  Blaze Ya Dead Homie  →  Albums  →  Clockwork Gray

Blaze Ya Dead Homie Album


Clockwork Gray (08/21/2007)
08/21/2007
1.
Contact from the Other Side
2.
3.
Blaze Up
4.
5.
6.
Keep It Simple
7.
Some of Them Thugz
8.
Egg Plantz
9.
10.
Inside Looking Out
11.
Dead Neck
12.
Escape Artist
13.
Wishing Well
14.
E.O.D.
. . .

Contact from the Other Side

[No lyrics]

. . .


"You should not have come here. your not welcome here. this place is for the dead."

They call me the crypt keeper in charge of the netherworlds
Death valley is made up of skeletons and spoken words
Vultures fly by like ghetto birds and pick flesh from bones
While they melt in the sun like ice cream cones the dead zone
Absorb'em until it rains brimstone and hot lava melt away puppet strings
Got a thousand of 'em waiting to jump if I give the word
And drag you down in the crypt without a care or concern
I hold the hour glass which means my word is my bond
And if your name appear on my list it' you I will be creepin on
Of should I say encryptin no I'm not trippin I pause for a second
To reload my weapon and blast

[Chorus x2]

You fucking with the crypt keeper you fucked up now bitch cause I here to see ya
You fucking with the crypt keeper you fucked up now bitch cause I here to see ya
(the sun is falling and it's raining blood the deadman has returned to your neighborhood)
And you know I'm bout to blast break backs, cut throats, bullet holes, gun smoke
Don't you know bitch motherfucker I'm a lay you down
And you know I'm bout to blast break backs, cut throats, bullet holes, gun smoke
Don't you know bitch motherfucker I'm a lay you down
You fucking with the crypt keeper you fucked up now bitch cause I here to see ya
You fucking with the crypt keeper you fucked up now bitch cause I here to see ya
(the sun is falling and it's raining blood the deadman has returned to your neighborhood

Pour out some liquor and bow your head and show respect to the motherfuckin dead

. . .

Blaze Up

[No lyrics]

. . .


(feat. Jamie Madrox)

Toe tagz body bagz (x3)

(Blaze:)
Toe tagz body bagz dead body cold slab embalm the body after the autopsy
No blood just formaldehyde the outcome of homicide or suicide pine box
Dressed in ya sunday best got a single white rose layin off on ya chest
Close the open casket ain't no coming back like a ticket paid be it coach or first class
Like a trip to the otherside soaked in all black time to face facts layin flat on my dead back
I flip dat call it all a mishap then bag up ya body with tagz so they don't mismatch

Toe tagz body bagz zip yo ass up in a bag toe tagz body bagz put you on a cold slab
Toe tagz body bagz zip yo ass up in a bag toe tagz body bagz put you on a cold slab

(Madrox:)
Tag'em and bag'em and drag'em in to the underground
Collect preserve use discretion never make a sound
Floor boards squeak but the dead don't speak
They marinate in the fruit celler for up to 3 weeks
Till they're ripe for pickin and they get plucked and tucked
Between the walls like insulation where they remain stuck
Forced to listen to other victims getting the same cause the artist is consistent
So it's performed the same way

(Blaze:)
Hefty cinch sak 50 gallon or more available in any home improvement or grocery store
I buy'em by the pallette and fill my trunk with dead bodies 3 fat 2 skinny old men and stacked hotties
I tag'em on the toe so only I will know how I killed'em and what they came here for
Got so many got a library a thru z all buried beneath the lights of my H-O-M-E

Toe tagz body bagz zip yo ass up in a bag toe tagz body bagz put you on a cold slab
Toe tagz body bagz zip yo ass up in a bag toe tagz body bagz put you on a cold slab
Toe tagz body bagz zip yo ass up in a bag toe tagz body bagz put you on a cold slab

(Madrox:)
Linda and Larry and Lori we got most of the L's
20 or 30 or more as we dig in to hell
Tunnels and caverns underneath the apolled
Deeper in the ground so the body remains cold
With copies of toe tagz man I treat' it like a recipt
There's a copy for you copy for me customer policy
I run a business and this hobbies not a game
Show passion for the art normal people would call insane
Big silva duck tape toe tagz dead weight
2 on da porch 1 more in the crawl space with no face
Looking at me but I hear'em at night
Crawlin through the walls trying to rob me of my own life

Toe tagz body bagz zip yo ass up in a bag toe tagz body bagz put you on a cold slab
Toe tagz body bagz zip yo ass up in a bag toe tagz body bagz put you on a cold slab
Toe tagz body bagz zip yo ass up in a bag toe tagz body bagz put you on a cold slab
Toe tagz body bagz zip yo ass up in a bag toe tagz body bagz put you on a cold slab

. . .


I'ma kid out the seven veteran I've ever been
My shirt's wet all over a new connect
Caught a bullet in my neck and it's spillin' just like a sive
Clentch the Glock wonderin' how long I'm gonna live
But before I get ahead the story let's start with,
The kid we was introduced through a kinda friend
My man Ill Money would never lead me astray
Real playa he don't fuck with nothing but big weight
Put me up on game said the players in town
Hold nothing but Afghan twelve hundred a pound
At that price I could flip three or maybe four
In less than a week through the front and out the back door
He says here the numbers and I called the new cat
Told 'im Money said them L-B-S's lookin' fat
I'm lookin' to cop two or thirdies on front
Had intents on flippin' two and baggin' the third up
And layin' the dude down, and skirtin' with all them pounds
And dumpin' a couple rounds, and skippin' a couple towns over
When my boy Loc celled to the smoked out
Over an inner sight front of the crack house
I said I was plannin' the attack,
I need a gun man and a Ryda watch my muthafuckin' back
Cause if shit went wack niggas smoke up on me
What's up R.O.C. it's ya muthafuckin' homie

Seen the thing was I had to roll dude
Grab the first burner I'm bout to fall through
And bodies gon' go I swear right with me
Blaze and R.O.C. make situations sticky
Let out whoever's there babies are included
We leavin' nothin' breathin' no discussions movin'
I won't be seen, cause all they see is the flash from my barrel
Fuck a penitentary, hand steady 160 cock me
Cops can't stop me, fuck I'm gettin' sloppy
Break a lil' bit cross the front of the bitch
Start gunnin' when I pass 'em no aces ditched
While the silencer's silencin' all that's involved
We about to get paid ain't no time to stall
Attempts to catch the bead of sweat drippin' down my face
Burns my eye a lil' bit but my aim is straight

(hook)
I can see it goin' down
ILL CONNECT
It's bout to happen right now
ILL CONNECT
Rob that boy for them pounds
ILL CONNECT
I like the way that sounds
ILL CONNECT
It might come back around
ILL CONNECT
I want the muthafuckin' crown
ILL CONNECT
Them bodies bound to be found
ILL CONNECT
I put 'em deep in the ground
ILL CONNECT

Shit went bad, there was undercover cops
I shot, he shot, and R.O.C. popped
One of his boys in the neck and it got worse
Overhead was the sirens and the sounds of the ghetto bird
I had a coupla holes in my chest like a golf course
And I'm reloadin' the rounds for the I-4 task force
And canine units that tried to subdue us
Plenty of ammunition I;m lookin' to get ruthless
Takin' shelter behind the side door
Amidst the gun battle I drop a few more
So many shells hit the ground and mixed with my blood
It's dust clouds and gun powder and heat above
Time ticks and the second hand fly pass
The streets is riddled with blood and gun blasts
And the final shot that fatally struck me
An who the fuck are they kidding ain't no killin' Ya Dead Homie

(hook)

. . .

Keep It Simple

[No lyrics]

. . .

Some of Them Thugz

[No lyrics]

. . .

Egg Plantz

[No lyrics]

. . .


Zip codes, time zones
Every other day, a different state
But the juggalo love remains the same

. . .

Inside Looking Out

[No lyrics]

. . .

Dead Neck

[No lyrics]

. . .

Escape Artist

[No lyrics]

. . .

Wishing Well

[No lyrics]

. . .

E.O.D.

[No lyrics]

. . .


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