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Versuri Sporty Thievz - Hitmen
Versuri-versuri.ro > Versuri Litera S > Versuri Sporty Thievz > Street Cinema - HitmenI want him dead.  
 I don't care how you do it  I don't care when you do it   
 but I just want him dead.  
 I don't care if you gotta bring him over here with his mother   
 but I want him dead.  
 I want his mother dead  I want his father dead...  
 I don't care I want his DOG dead...  
  
 (Verse 1)  
 Sonny pat me down  sat me down  said look at me now  
 'Kirk  no fucking around  I want you to clap this clown  
 If you fuck up  then you fucked, best not to fuck  
 Fuck you fucked then what? FUCK! You think you tough?'  
 Chill! I need two's to bust, save the anger  
 And all that hostility, stop grilling me, you killing me, feelin' me?  
 Guess not...who you want dead? "Vinnie." How much bread?  
 Shook his head fed and called his man Fred "Yo Fred!"  
 Fred said, "FUCK you!" Oh fuck me? Lucky  
 As long as none of you touch me everything'll be lovely  
 Trust me, where the money at? Sonny tapped Fred, "This is a funny cat  
 You're black, you get the money when you come back!"  
 What's that? Whatchu say? Nah you didn't say that  
 Laid back snatched the gat under my grey hat and said "stay back"  
 Clack, I don't play that! Shot Fred in his top lip [Ahh!!]  
 That's for popping shit, and shot Sonny is his dick [Ahhhh!!]  
 Blew they brains then skipped in a Towncar brown car  
 Vinnie said, "What? No scars? How'd it go down, par'?"  
 "Like quicksand." "Damn, here's your thirty-six grand.  
 Lemme shake your hand, shit man, you're my favorite hit man!"  
  
 (Chorus)  
 Yo we hitmen, charge thirty G's ahead  
 You might see the ex-poor theivz and want to fled  
 Instead, blend in with the crowd while we cockin' this  
 But sudden moves will just make yourself obvious  
 Gimmie a price that I like, sound good then I might  
 Take the life of whoever knowing never could do it better  
 Remember no kids and double for females  
 Pass the bills, pictures, and details and I'll do the kill  
  
 (Verse 2)  
 Peep the sag, I was fronted two G's by the mob  
 Two Z's and the Saab for this hitman job  
 Burnt my hand for initiation, cats told me the situation  
 Them niggas transporter was lacing  
 Coke was missing they was shortin' it up  
 He was supposed to be importin' it up, but he was snortin' it up  
 So they sent me to his house in a '98 Blazer  
 Under my toungue, razor, gun pager with the lazer  
 Jumped out with all black on feeling no love  
 With the untouched slugs, black mask with the gloves  
 Ran up in his crib-o with the click-o and seen dick-o  
 Headed for the door with two tickets to 'Fransisco  
 Him and his bitch, yo! She was looking type rio  
 Flower shirt with the straw hat holding parico  
 Yo chico! Where's the rest of the kilos, we know you got 'em  
 Red light dot him, spot him on his head, shot him  
 His girl behind him sobbing reaching for her stocking  
 A holster strapped to her leg which she had the glock in  
 She heard me cocking, and still tried to go for hers  
 [gunshot] Kirk was like, "Damn why you open hers  
 Before she showed you where the Coca was? Fuck man..."  
  
 (Chorus)  
  
 (Verse 3)  
 Dog it ain't much time for explaining, and you a hitman in training  
 What to and not to do when the bullets start raining  
 Killing and maintaining be the key for this academy  
 Number one: never ever ever point a gat at me  
 FUCK if it's unloaded, threaten this man's health  
 Bust me by mistake I'll kill you my DAMN self  
 Now hold it to the side firm, squeeze 'till they squirm  
 Use nines for long niggas tec-nines for strong niggas  
 Never let a contract disrespect your flow  
 'Cuz you might be next to get it when collecting your dough  
 But yo, the best target is one that barely moves  
 German 2's that'll be kept tucked under daily news  
 Every shot counts with the nigga hired to hit on  
 You don't want an empty clip with more niggas to shit on  
 No vest and you get lit on, then you might wanna split man  
 But shit, man, that's all part of being a hitman  
  
 (Conversation with amateur hitman)  
  
 (Chorus)  
  
 There's three no's to a hitman:  
 No kids  
 No mistakes  
 No witnesses  
  
 Class dismissed
- Groot De Boudewijn
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