| Fake ass niggas don’t do they?
|
| Flatline
|
| Yeah, turn the lights out
|
| Turn the lights out, turn the lights out
|
| T-turn the lights out, boom!
|
| Flatline
|
| Let 'em out, let 'em out
|
| Turn the lights out, turn the lights out
|
| Yo, in my head, I’m feeling vain, I already went insane
|
| It’s fucked up, one of my man’s went against the grain
|
| A traitor is a nigga from the lowest circle
|
| So you know you shoulda do what I would do
|
| One two, one two, betrayed your crew
|
| I bury your man deep until I get to another land
|
| Like John Henry, I’m dying with my shovel inside my hand
|
| But not yet, not yet, I’m taking a lot before I go
|
| And since I’m thinking about every murder, I got
|
| I leave your body smelling like a bucket of dirty shit
|
| Dug in a dirty, dirty pit, the one the maggots walk and shit
|
| The ones that rat, I’m feeding em to my cat
|
| Lay down the plastic bat and mess around with the vat
|
| To come drink the brew, it’s poisonous and it’s spoiled
|
| And nigga blood red, I heads got boiled
|
| From dark up your booze to a light spice, I slice
|
| I’m not a human being, I’m a walking poltergeist
|
| No one can feel the nigga Digger never ever eats
|
| Oink, I get smoking, I debunk, and I put out a Flatline
|
| Flatlinerz supper never finish what we say (x3)
|
| When you step to my crew your step the fucking wrong way!
|
| Stepping upon the grave is the wrong thing to do
|
| To, do, and my crew is coming to you
|
| Sends the owl is a howl
|
| Is the reply when you die the burners are pissing em out
|
| I burn the poor, I bury in deserts sin
|
| Then I wither inside of a coffin and close the lid
|
| He’s in pain, niggas hit up the spot and gave me wolf’s bane
|
| Whose sane? |
| I’m the nigga that murdered my Daddy’s name
|
| Leave the two slain, who reign? |
| I’m coming outside there shooting
|
| Los Angeles, riot, I am looting
|
| Werewolves, witches, dead zombie bitches
|
| And a nigga with guns, and digging in the ditches
|
| I’m a killer, civil-a, doing it like gorilla
|
| Bullet body filler, thriller on a nigga like Barney Miller
|
| Inside the room with the dead, I’m the red, I’m the ruler
|
| Asleep inside of a casket, casket taboola
|
| A pact with the Devil was signed for the niggas up on the Flatline
|
| The whole human race is mine
|
| I took him when he was a kitty and turned him to grimy and gritty
|
| Then let him out in the city, what is he? |
| What is he?!
|
| Make way niggas and give me some room to breathe
|
| Gotta cut another motherfucker 'cause it’s time to feed
|
| I’m sick, I peep your brains quick
|
| I’ll rip out your jugular vein and take a sip
|
| Get caught, never loc, 'cause I’m too slick
|
| You’re standing on a corner, got severed like a bitch
|
| Snitched me to the wrong end up flexing on the block
|
| Like you’re hard on my step up you get scarred
|
| 'Cause I creep from the crack like gasses, running
|
| Through the grasses, smalls and masses, ashes
|
| Up from the layer and the depth’s souls
|
| Are being swept under the carpet, bodies on the market
|
| And I brought the horrorcore four
|
| Dismembered your body and dragged your souls through the slaw |