lirik lagu diabolic - cursed
[verse 1: diabolic]
i step in the place with an empty stomach—i’m starving
i’ll run in someone’s apartment with a gun as a marksman
when the suffolk department runs up with a warrant
f-ck the judge—i’m departing with the governor’s pardon
getting drunk with my squadron of prehistoric beasts
if i even claw your cheek, i’mma leave with all your t–th
f-ck your prerecorded speech—i believe that talk is cheap
when people caught your beef, you just flee and call police
while my composure’s kept closer than my foes could get
last time i broke a sweat, your ho was soaking wet
you chose to pose a threat and hoped i overslept
don’t hold your breath, homie. you’ll probably choke to death
you know the rep—now go check your method and see
the truth getting buried then resurrected as me
diabolic. i’m the message setting you free
like the grand dragon hanging by his neck from a tree
[verse 2: smoothe da hustler]
i hang with the illest, g-ngb-ng with the realest
i ain’t staying—the sk!ll is. my aim is to k!ll us
i stay chasing them figures. i came banging them triggers
i’m in your cage to pillage, a bunch of angry gorillas
check n-ggas, deaf n-ggas, secs to listen saying they feel us
wanna hang with the fearless? yeah, they can hang from the ceiling
my name stay in the business—i maintain an appearance
i can’t change in the mirror. y’all can’t paint in the picture
i keep a shank in the jibbers. my naysayers are finished
i lane change in a minute. my lane can’t be driven in
i break day for the digits. i traded ‘caine with dealers
i traded trey eights for pay, traded greys with k!llers
i say, “stay with your vision.” my slang made an incision
some say i changed but the deal is i just changed where i’m living
so when i say it, i did it. you fake it; i live it. you play it; i spit it
you stay and i visit the lady to get it
now let’s hit it
[verse 3: kool g rap]
i just do it, n-ggas, like vandalism
about to catch an aneurysm from my hammer’s rhythm
n-gga, d-mn. who is him? rocks his copped—a brand new prism
no money, b-tch, but i grant you j-sm
street smarts, buck sparks if i see marks on the grams you give him
real n-gga, b-tch. will glance you with him
long story to short, i’m like, “f-ck if i die poor in new york”
when og with ozs with 40 to snort
from things, i l-st, blinged up like king tut and bang all the sl-ts
blow no chips, pay off hookers and strangle the bucks
n-ggas spaz—.44 mag to mangle his guts
only going to jail chained-up ankle and up
face mask on like hannibal lecter. my part of queens the animal sector
you can’t handle the pressure. keep standing there, hand on ya p-ck-r
end up a tagged foot in forensic van, bein’ inspected, n-gga
[verse 4: graph]
i got the spot on me
i run with a strong army, a gun and a cross on me
so if death was coming, may god warn me
i keep cess coming—i’m puffing like bob marley
i get your head busted—bl–dy y’all laundry
my money’s all bl–dy, y’all. put money on in front of y’all
skull if y’all saw me—get to running up off me
i work hard—i ain’t comfy under some palm tree
but i’m hummer stunting, jumping out of somethin’ costly
f-ck the law, please. they ain’t plucking the gun up off me
the handle’s hot—i feel like i’m tucking a cup of coffee
pack mad heater—feel like i’m rubbing the sun across me
a black hand piece that i’m cupping is something frosty
i got b-tches on my nuts. some are h-rny
exhibit a: i can’t get your mother off me
i’m diabolic, i’m dying watching some busting off
these fire rockets the size of the projects
bang bang
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