Merchant of War - Intellectual

[Intro]

One-two, yeah

Yeah

While you cuddlin' a harlot? I sleep with the four

Official Pistol Gang, we be the reapers of war

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

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

Graff writers use the thump out toys

Keepin' 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 live in abyss

Where them hollow tip bullets spit quicker than Rittz

The nine always concealed, I'm lettin' this bitch breathe

Your body gonna be mistaken for Swiss cheese

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 hailstorm, point blank mail bomb

The ambulance take you away and not Calgon

Dirt weed in a backpack full of Krylon

Move rock for yards without seein' 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 muhfuckers high on

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

I'ma 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'ma do it my way, fish and edamame

Chase a very fine glass of wine with a latté

My music age well like it's related to Sade

Vinnie put a few shots into ya like Bombay

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