Bishop - True Crimes lyrics

rate me


True...crime (Fire Squad)


True...crime (here we go)



Good Lord they shootin' at me

Smile on my face 'cause I'm trigger happy

Bitch get my drink and make it snappy

'fore I leave your ass screamin' for a taxi

True Crimes and nothin' but

I just seen that nigga Reuben jack a ice cream truck

Then quick across the street and rob a Pizza Hut

American Idol ain't my title

I'm Elmer Fudd with a big ass rifle

Lurkin' the block, homicidal

And robbin' nuns, gimme your bible (I'm kidding)

Don't you know I'm loco homes

With a trenchcoat like Sherlock Holmes

Full of shotguns and big ass chromes (why)

Set to break in all your homes (why)

And take that, take that, like Puffy Combs

[Chorus: Bishop]

Gimme your gun, gimme your knife (why)

It's True Crimes, better run for your life

Hide your kids, hold your wife (why)

It's True Crimes, better touch your ice

Cut your purse, stash your cash (why)

It's True Crimes, I'm about to blast

Call the cops and lock your doors (why)

It's True Crimes, and I'm taking yours


Went up to the store and I picked 'em

Mask and gloves, guess what, it's a stick 'em

Gimme all your money honey and a big gold band

Too quick bitch witch don't say no I'm so

Out my mind I can't be serious

Get hit so hard you'll have an out of body experience

No interference with the current proceedings

Or you'll be well in sand for some serious beatings

Oh hi, oh my it's a tough guy

Get your face messed up like I'm Vanilla Sky

You used to be a super-size now you're just a small fry

Ain't got enough gas so I do a walk-by (blah)

Hey, that's a nice Motorola

With GPS, punk hand it over (hand it over)

'fore I attack your ass for your old Corolla (old Corolla)

He'll roll your ass up like a peach folder



Shit, ain't nothin' left to spit

I done kicked enough shit to get the world on my dick

I'm Houdini in a Beanie got that Magic Stick

Stay in bikinis eeny meeny let me take my pick

It's like Memph Jay and Missy yo "is that your chick"

The way I'm pimpin' in this game it'll make you sick

I'm in the thing with wood grain with the top to flip

While your faggot ass is riding on a bike like dick (screech)

This ain't no game

Hafta vision cataclysm, bringin' extra ammunition

You can really end up missin' if you freakin' with my mission

Yo we meetin' to more dishin your new beautician or not

Drew dissin so, you listen and pay close attention OK

Before I go from rap to killin' milla gorilla the mack milla's spill ya

Don't get me wreckin' shit like Mecca God feel ya yeah


True...Crime [repeat to fade]

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