Out Cold

Now once upon a time, way back in the day

There was an MC-killer by the name of E-S-H-A-M

And he was known to murder them all

Gun-clapper leave a rapper brains all on the wall

Now, nobody coul fade him cause he was known to murder em

And kill the wack DJ's who never heard of him

The radio was scared, they wouldnt even listen to him

But he's gettin payed, and the flash of pistols to em

He lives underground in parts unknown

He's known to take your cookies to boogie the bloody microphone

Seven MC's, put them in a line

Then add seven more niggas who think they can shine

Well, it'll take seven more before I'll go for mine

Then I'll "blocabloca" my nine rhymes at the same tizzime

They say, "MC-killer, dont let him rhyme around you,

He's bound to pull a nine and blow your mind all around you"

Now they got a white chalk line all around you

Hanging from a telephone pole's how they found you

Psychopathic, automatic

Weapons get drawn if you got some static 'cause

This is how the story goes

People these days are really out cold

[x4]

Great scott, a monsters high on top of the Penasca

Bustin off shots with the twenty-five-shot glock

This is back when the wizard was cutting shit up

Plus ain't nobody saying nothing, so I'm shutting shit up

Killed another MC, scoped him from high off the tower

Radio stations blow out your power, sniffin powder

How the fuck I killed another DJ?

Special request: I serviced his ass with the AK

P-P-P-P-P-Pow muthafucka, ain't no love in my mind

Ain't no tarnishing my game, ain't no dulling my shine

Still nine dead bodies real hard to find

And if you want to kill some more times, press rewinD

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