Terror Death Camp (feat. Meyhem Lauren / Maffew Ragazino / Ag Da Coroner)

Queens, New York

Flushing shit

(We back again)

That's right

Yo

Sour smoke out the nasal

The Pad Thai noodle topped off with basil

Sistine Chapel rapper, I'm here to blaze you

Pop off material, get laid up n sprayed up just like arterial

Clementine nine, dripping venereal

Linguine linguistics that left my verbal lesson saucy

Send a message, leave you sleeping next to headless horsey

Play the plaintiff, I'mma slide off to prior engagements

Let you die in the basement

Toast wine from the time of the ancient-

Turkish warriors, cobblestones in Macedonia

Albanians in Shkup...never living by the book

We fill the jails in France, Uzes and Italy

Never do dirt in our own land

That shit's forbidden, G

Hoxha singing from the top of the Xhamia

Pickled peppers at the picnic table

Feta cheese, perfect Flia

Straight outta Dukagjin

One of the illest places

No one's smiling

There's only drunken men with killer faces

I'm known for simmering the mean gravy

Gleam crazy, my mind's hazy

New York made me

The most official, to holster pistol

Trim the fat, scrape the gristle

Meyhem Lauren will make your family miss you

I'll gladly press the trigger button

If you press an issue

Whether it's beef or beats

I try to make a casket fit you

We'll fuck you up then fuck you up

And then come back to get you

And do that two more times

We call that shit a triple triple

My flow is typhoon rap, it's deeper than an ocean ripple

Our hollow tips will hit you

Leave you with an altered nipple

Slumped over saying "Lord, please have mercy"

Or play the G, now we made hot flames burst me

Queens veteran, dressed like tennis men

Back block medicine, slap chop venison

Knock, knock, let us in

My whole clique's equipped to shoot though

My army got more fucking arms than a can of pulpo

Brownsville's Jesus, white and blue Adidas

Got more knowledge than them Poor Righteous Teachers

Clarence Smith, Stan Smith, 13X's

Some will overstand but common men never receive the message

Concepts like I'm Frank Butcher

Neighborhood pusher, 62's through ya sub woofer

Unca nunca for the pitbulls with red noses

Wet bogies dipped in shit to stop bodies from decomposing

Cool, calm and collected

Keep my composure

All my business in black and white like negative exposures

Keep a Polaroid for the posers

A picture's worth a thousand words

So lock and load up

You don't know me from a hole in a commode, bruh

I am the shit, just ask your bitch

I bet she know, yup

It's St. Maffew

Truffles in that duffle

Princess in the catsuit

This is dope fiend rap

Have a nigga leaning sideways

Frankie Blue Eye shit

I do it my way

Legendary, scary, February Valentine murder

Ike Turner, gun butt with a nice burner

Bluey spot guzzler

Long Island Tea sipper

Mind of a killer

Trenchcoat Mafia nigga

Hollow point slinger

Smile while I'm flipping fingers

Angels and demons

Mellowed out, Stylistic singer

Corner store postup

Backstreet wanderer

Butter your toast up

Tight pussy conqueror

Smart aleck, talk back, type of nigga

Fuck you

Disrespect your mother, your brother

Father and son, too (everybody!)

Long live the music cause it's part of my blood

But how long can I stay breathing

Only God is my judge

Through the lights, cameras and action

Glammer, glitters and gold

Every legend repping my era

Carries part of my soul

(90's, nigga)