Camouflage & Murder Lyrics - C-murder

Ay nigga, ain't you Mac 

What you doing in this motherfucker 

Camouflage nigga what, you'll catch me in the cut 

Fucking shit up for every nigga, the bigger pig the bigger trigger 

'Cause my niggaz in the river 

Stories about the Mac, will make 'em shiver 

They prolly at they crib loading they techs 

Wondering who I'ma smoke next 

Patrolling they set, Malcolm X nigga 

The New Orleans Jesus, pack a tre-deuce 

And you can bring the drama to Zeus 

If you heard about what that third about 

Nigga feel that, that fake shit we 'bout to kill that 

On the for real black, I never show-boat 

Be on the low, like a black sto' the Mac flow 

Sorta like a cracked flo', a different plateau, the Mac show 

When I attack though, I never turn my back 'cause 

The bullets, penetrate the back slow 

C-Murder, man number 187 

Oh you in on murder one 

Get your shit, boy, you going upstate 

Fuck the world, bitch 

Nigga I'm C, motherfucking Murder never scary 

But it's very necessary to leave my adversaries buried 

Crack sales bring bitches in lines but I'm eternal 

Lethal weapons stay cocked, many niggaz may drop 

From the top like flies, I despise you hoes 

With crooked smiles, make a nigga wanna 'nap your child 

Niggaz bleed, my enemies fearing attack 

They move with silence, when nigga bring the violence 

Do they know, me and my soldiers tighter than glue 

We pass bitches and weed, my nigga Mac planting seeds 

Let the devil tell it, bailing making the scene 

I whoop the nigga ass in jail, he was a dope fiend 

And no collect calls, ghetto pictures on the wall 

You gotta crawl and fall, before you ball nigga fuck y'all 

Around the way, my niggaz feel what I'm spitting 

It's Camouflage and Murder nigga, so pay attention, bitch 

Currency, I hope you got currency 

'Cause your bail two million dollars, you understand that 

You lil' rap mother 

Hold, hold, hold, hold up man 

I got two million dollars cash, call Stan 

I'm out this bitch, you heard me 

What you gon' do, when you get out of jail 

Sketch off the scene, in a yellow ML 

4-30, Benz truck with four bitches inside 

Who all about letting a dog and his friends fuck 

I'm too large for haters 

My niggaz smoke bud tote guns, picture they all on paper 

I'm talking 'bout niggaz like Big, you know who 

Ceedy, Wayne, Geezy, fuck it the whole crew 

Uh, we all roll with nines and 'bout letting 'em fly 

But I try to stay on the low with mine 

Catch lil' daddy slipping, point the 4-4 at his spine 

Leave your body in the forest, where no one can find 

And you boys, don't want none of that 

I know niggaz that look at jail time 

Like Summer camp holla back 

Yeah, ya dank