Bad Hombres - Heavy Metal Kings, Vinnie Paz, Ill Bill

Tucked the cannon in the lo fabric

Slick Rick grills, 24 gold karats

The Kimber K6s is so savage

It blew his brains all over the ghost mattress

The cartier vintage like ghost rabbits

Man sent to Dennis Wilson crib, so lavish

We went up in his face with a stone hatchet

Southpaw, fight with the left like old fascists

Throw shots from close angles

Have his body laid out like a snow angel

Apply pressure till they both strangled

Arms dealer sell biscuits like Bojangles

Empty clips, give 'em my all

Small fry, I got choppers that are bigger than y’all

No small talk money, just the jux and be gone

I got shooters waiting for you if you look at me wrong

Muerte

12 gauges were perfect for these kind of jobs, cause they were intimidating.

They were big, you know, rather than just a handgun

We’d kick down these doors and, put the gun to their head and I’m just like:

Look, if you don’t give me my money… Then I’m gonna hurt you.

A lot of times I didn’t even need the money.

I just did it because,

it just gave me this fucking euphoric feeling and I was addicted

Satan laughs as you eternally rot

Young Baloff with the burgundy snot

You get surgically shot

Drive-by you in a cloud of that purpley pot

Can you see with your Eyes Wide Shut?

Certainly not

And we all gon' die some day, slowly we rot

Shooters might go get your funeral shot, ahk

So choose wise who you keep within the circle of trust

Tucked the swammy in the gut

Tommy, hand me the blunt

Speed forth like Z. York in the green orb

Swing swords, careen towards enemy hordes

Tear the face off my enemy’s corpse

Mob through heavenly armed

The cause with these heavy metal songs and bars

Standing on a cliff harnessing the source of the Ark

Past the banana clip architects tortured in war

Eye-patches on crisis actors

Unrecognizable accents on ISIS captains

Practice survival tactics

Cut around your face.

Rip your scalp, let it hang down.

Rip your face off.

And they put a mirror, in front of you, so you can get a real good look at

yourself… Then cut your dick and your balls off

Medina Arafat, return to the martyr’s dream

My squad gleams like October in the arts of fiends

Cause Tuddy cooked a whole corpse until the barren clean

Magazine melt your face away, it’s guaranteed

Roy DeMeo was the butcher from Flatlands

Back of the garbage truck, we kill for pellets like Pac-Man

Elegant Lou Duva body-parts in the cooler

Got shooters up in the crib smell like gauze and hot tuna

Diadoras, the fat tongues and the yeshiva clapping

Break bread, black Rabbi with the heater action

Def Leppard, pyromania, I torch and go

Rifle nut 40 aught, khakis and baby scorpio

Young friend it’s Gore mortuary drape

Called Paz so we burn the body raw till it was Frosted Flakes

Nikki Sixx, the black corvette from Uncensored

Stomp your head out rock corpse paint

Like Jon from Dissection

One of my first acts will be (sniff) to get all of the drug lords (sniff) all

of the bad ones, we have some bad, bad people (sniff) in this country that have

to go out.

(sniff) We’re going to get them out, we’re going to (sniff) secure

the border (sniff) and once the border is secure, at a later date (sniff) we’ll

make a determination as to the rest.

(sniff) But we have some bad (sniff)

hombres (sniff) here and we are going to get 'em out.

(grunts and snorts)