Brotha Lynch Hung - Black Market Lyrics

Send "Black Market" ringtone to your cell

The year is 1994

Black Market Records, 2001 Records, and Doomsday Productions

Combined forces to create an unfadable click

Make way for the hounds of the underground

Feel the fury, hahhaahaha...

(Pit)

I put my hands in my pockets

They jingle cause they full of change

Sometimes being broke'll make you fall astray

But I got a better grip on myself

So I avoid gettin played short like a elf

Bust her side, bust her in the head

Then watch al the yolk come runnin out his neck

I'm tryin to stack a grip so don't let me hit this sticky

Cause if I hit this sticky, I'ma shoot me a bitch

Fuck it, bang bang

Five minutes later, the cops came

I'm settin up shop for the black market

So if I aim at your mark ass your a target

Told you that I'd come, but I came insane

Throwin brain cell killas, scramblin niggas brains

If you gotta go, you gotta go I like the 64'

I'm pullin GTA's, it aint yours no more

Then I take it and strip it down and leave nothin but the frame

Then I'm gonna sell my cousin your gold thangs

Copper burnin, turnin over like a flapjack

Mo money mo money for black market

(Chorus) X 4

On the black market, yeah

(Eklypss)

Creep and move with swiftness in the dark

And aint no stoppin, once a nigga start

And aint nothin new, up under the sun for days and days

Under the moon, is where I was born and raised

And Doom for life, nigga this aint no day life

I love it, murderin muthafuckas in the night

A Doomsta ready to make his mark, a underground target

Hooked up with Black Market, now peep

Shit gets deeper and deeper, meet me

The Doomstown grim reaper, and Pit

Platinum, Mr. Doctor, Lynch Hung

We do your ass in good just for fun

Fifteen inches in your ass bitch

Take it and love it, but I aint talking bout no dick

14 suns and moons, somethin you can assume

That on the 15th marks my day for doom

Buck em and fuck em with Doomsday Productions

Eklypss'll trip if I catch you fuckin with my grip

You'll find your ass dead in a graveyard

And I'ma continue on my...

Lyrics provided by http://www.kovideo.net/

Source - http://www.kovideo.net/black-market-lyrics-brotha-lynch-hung-213210.html

[Brotha Lynch Hung]

What if you see me chewin baby guts locc

Would you choke or vomit when that teflon pierce that baby's throat?

Peep me eatin dead cot

You trip, cause eatin dead pussy clit'll make ya sick

But it's that season so my reason is legit

I'm havin fits, I've dreamed of eatin bloody pussy clit since I was 6

I fein for dead pussy on my dick, I got the schitz

Meanin I don't give a shit about yo biatch

That nigga that's from the block killin off that cott

So nigga, shit

Baby barbeque ribs and guts, and uh

Don't let me get to deep fryin baby nuts

Sluts, get ate out like a date, them crooked teeth hurt

I pull that tampax string out and straight put in work

It wouldn't work without the sick

So page a nigga quick, so I can serve you some of that shit

And have you murderin your biatch, violently

I've been keyed for 20 minutes and feel like killin

Loadin that milla-milla it's that infant killin

Nigga Lynch, Mr. Doc, D-O double M and hella heat

Niggas unload, I need another dose of human meat

I live to creep, and black ya death by the scene

As that nigga that nigga that nine millimeter punch you in yo spleen

(Chorus) X 4

On the black market, yeah

(Mr. Doctor)

You lay your eyes up on my .44

And notice every curve in my strap

As them tears roll down

Flash yo life as ya fade to black

If that gat wasn't all up in yo face

Reminisce of yo folks, yo bitch, yo kids, yo fate

Replace, take it down to the south, get deep

Think of moms at your funeral locc, and all ya family, huh

It's kind of crazy you could lose all of these things so quick

And what's worse, nigga shot you for the fuck of it, yeah

Never know I'd E the one to have your life in my hand

(Brotha Lynch: That Ruger.44 Mag)

That niggas life wont last, huh

Keep listenin while I guide the gat right down into your throat

Dig that barrel in your neck, watch your bitch ass choke

No hope, no joke, I'm savin you the pain of old age

All I ask for is your muthafuckin grip in exchange

One to the brain, in the throat, out the skull

From the big chrome gat, peeled cap, release your soul

Now ya niggas know, one mo dead muthafucka on the street

From the Mr. Doc Loc

Straight to the brain with St. Ides brew

The Black Market dealt murder when they signed me foo

[Chorus] X 4

On the black market, yeah

Send "Black Market" ringtone to your cell