The Black Opera - ThrILL Ft. Fyza lyrics
rate meUh, I got, I got
Uh, I got, you never feel like…
Oh, I got! I got it, I got it!
For real I’m going for the kill
Red carpet because of the blood spilled
You never seen a killer this clean
And so many things to do with a pillow besides dream.
Sleep on it, or scream under it
White gloves so I don’t leave bloody prints.
There’s a method to the massacre,
Messy like afterbirth, forensics afterwards.
My Work is over, the curtains close.
Spectators just witnessed a Murder Show.
Sudden Death can seem so terminal.
I’m Nocturnal lurkin’, no mercy, I got the urge to go.
Get ‘em, clothes fittin’ tailored to a T.
Formal wear made for ME to slay ‘em brutally.
She held me close as we exit through the Velvet Rope.
Another night another list of victims felt the dose.
Chorus:
Ah I got it, weapon concealed
So fresh so mean ah-ah dressed to kill
(You never seen a killa this clean)
Ah I got it, weapon concealed
So fresh so mean yea it’s just the ThrILL
(You never seen a killa this clean)
Cool, calm, collect: The C’s I Live for
Don’t let me Connect them 3 C’s like Bio-hazard Symbol
Zero in the back, coolest in the nucleus
That Heat in the front, could Get Low if YOU ludicrous,
Shooting shit, they sniff blow just to do a hit
Weed in the blunt, you see em sober you’d boo they shit.
I thought Pills was just for women on they period,
And white boys that’s Scared to Death to try Heroine.
Crack Rock, Aerosmith, Hall of Fame ain’t your kind,
If you ain’t already Kurt Cobain in your prime
Ain’t nothing new about your lane: there’s a Line.
Go back in time, you will find.
There’s a thin line between Skinny Jeans and Dresses.
But, Baggy Pants look just as Pathetic, guess its Perception.
They say we either gotta act gay or wear women clothes,
smoke dope, be funny or a play a criminal.
Word to: Will Smith, Chris Tucker, Wesley Snipes,
Martin Lawrence, Dave Chapelle, nigga feel this!
Can’t forget: Ving Rhames Tyler Perry, Fuck Tyler
A lot of these rhymers is so vagina.
Crying through monitors to they fathers,
and Mothers that never Loved them, do to a Substance,
and Uncles that tried to fuck em, so they trust shit.
Never learned to be a man, just a bitch
Emotional in ‘Emo-Land’, that’s what WE stuck with.
Promotional they Pee they pants for a Budget.
Its so many ways to sell out your soul
They yell ‘Under Ground’ but, really they hoes.
I came to KILL EM but, they did it to themselves.
Suicide it’s a suicide nobody, heard they yells or came to help.
They won’t be around Next Year.
Too many trends can’t look they self in the mirror
They won’t be around next year.
Chorus:
I can’t describe this type of high
(And, I can’t describe this type of high)
I can’t describe what I feel so high
(And, I can’t describe why I feel so high)
