Merchant Of War Lyrics - The Thief And The Fallen - Jedi Mind Tricks

Why you cuddle it a hard I sleep with the four 

Official Pistol Gang, we be the reapers of war 

It doesn't mean that you're welcome, cause you're kick in the door 

I'm the boss, why you filing grievances for? 

Graph writers use the thump out toys 

Keep em both eyes open for them jump out boys 

I will body motherfuckers if they pump that noise 

Been down since Disco 3, become fat boys 

Let me fall back, let me take a sip at the bar 

Cause Vinnie in the hood like I'm fixing your car 

I'm the overlord, I don't need permission from y'all 

I get a migraine every time I listen to y'all 

Listen, y'all ain't never living the best 

With em hollow tip bullets spit quicker than Ritz 

The nine always concealed, I'm letting his bitch breathe 

Your body gonna be mistaken for Swiss cheese 

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The front and the back, what you want? Where you at? 

When my killers with the pistol grip pump on your lap 

Where the blunt? Where the gat? 

Where the funk? Where the strap? 

When my killers with the pistol grip pump on your lap 

This another hell storm, point blank mail bomb 

The ambulance take you away and not Calgon 

Dirt weed in a backpack full of Krylon 

Move rock for y'all without seeing the pylon 

None of y'all could ever be on the level that I'm on 

Traveling trajectories with crystals made of ion 

Jeffrey Hunter need to find another place to die on 

I don't know what drugs y'all motherfuckers high on 

Whoever told you, you should do it, gave you bad advice 

I'mma put a few in you then blast you in the afterlife 

You ain't even half as nice, bloodier than passion Christ 

You want a body? Give me a pen, a bottle and glass of ice 

I'mma do it my way, fish and edamame 

Chase of every fine glass of wine with a latte 

My music age well like it's related to Shadai 

Vinnie put a few shots into ya like Bombay 

Photos 

The front and the back, what you want? Where you at? 

When my killers with the pistol grip pump on your lap 

Where the blunt? Where the gat? 

Where the funk? Where the strap? 

When my killers with the pistol grip pump on your lap