Murda lyrics

by

Quality Control & Jordan Hollywood


[Intro: Domingo]
Ay, Duke Deuce
What the f*ck these n*ggas talkin' 'bout man?
Ay, they got us f*cked up
Y-R-N

[Chorus: Domingo]
Money, paper, racks, cash, blue hunnids, guapa-nese
Foreign b*tches, suckin', f*ckin', got 'em all, on they knees
All my n*ggas totin' pistols, even with felonies
And they shoot 'em like a camera, n*gga, say cheese
I know n*ggas bangin', Bloods, Crips, and some G's
And I got them shooters 'cross the country, overseas
These Percocet 10's got me geekin', feel like Hercules
It's murda, murda, murda, murda, murda, murda season (What!)
It's murda, murda, murda, murda, murda, murda season (Murda)

[Post-Chorus: Domingo]
Them young n*ggas killin', hurtin' n*ggas for no reason (Brrah)
Free my brothers down the road, locked up but still eatin'
And they'll still never, ever fold
When they see the judge, ain't no pleadin'

[Verse 1: Domingo]
It's just me and Duke Deuce (Duke Deuce)
We gon' beat a n*gga ass 'til he turn black & blue (Boom boom)
See the opps, we gon' shoot (Brrah)
All these dead bodies, n*gga, recognize who was who (Who-who)
Way I ran got 'em spooked (What)
I came in with the gang, so I'ma pull up with the troops (Gang)
And I ain't ever gon' switch (Nah)
And my n*gga wiped your nose, there's no one you can use (b*tch!)
Murda, murda, murda, murda, murda, murda (Murda)
These n*ggas gangsta, poppin' sh*t 'til we turn 'em (What?)
Into b*tches, yes we keep that fire, we gon' burn 'em (Brrah)
No, you can't buy them stripes, n*gga, gotta earn 'em
[Chorus: Domingo]
Money, paper, racks, cash, blue hunnids, guapa-nese
Foreign b*tches, suckin', f*ckin', got 'em all, on they knees
All my n*ggas totin' pistols, even with felonies
And they shoot 'em like a camera, n*gga, say cheese
I know n*ggas bangin', Bloods, Crips, and some G's
And I got them shooters 'cross the country, overseas
These Percocet 10's got me geekin', feel like Hercules
It's murda, murda, murda, murda, murda, murda season (What!)
It's murda, murda, murda, murda, murda, murda season (Murda)

[Post-Chorus: Duke Deuce]
1-2-3-4 trappers up in my bando (Up in my bando)
5-6-7-8 sticks so the b*tch better get low (b*tch better get low)
You think of Duke Deuces, Memphis (Memphis)
Makin' easy money and pimpin' (Pimpin')
Whole 'lotta robbin and dealin' (And dealin')
Man, everybody here killin' (Man, everybody killin')

[Verse 2: Duke Deuce]
I heat up and beat up the block
I G up to keep up, to re-up the stock (Re-up the stock)
Look what I am, what you're not
The people, they eat up, 'cause all my sh*t hot (My sh*t hot)
I'm out with no fours, my ice is cold
His ice cream rocky road (Rocky road)
Stick to the code, I never fold
I put that on the fours (Diddy)
You can see in a n*gga eyes, some hunger (Don't bother me)
n*gga f*ck with me they gon' hide lil' homie
Yeah, my nuts hangin', ain't no gangbangin'
Why the f*ck you shootin' if you ain't aimin'?
Goin' one-fifty, end up half-capped
With the red seats like a dark angel
[Chorus: Domingo]
Money, paper, racks, cash, blue hunnids, guapa-nese
Foreign b*tches, suckin', f*ckin', got 'em all, on they knees
All my n*ggas totin' pistols, even with felonies
And they shoot 'em like a camera, n*gga, say cheese
I know n*ggas bangin', Bloods, Crips, and some G's
And I got them shooters 'cross the country, overseas
These Percocet 10's got me geekin', feel like Hercules
It's murda, murda, murda, murda, murda, murda season
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