The Lost Art Of Killing
| Title | The Lost Art Of Killing |
|---|---|
| Artist | King Fantastic |
| Album | Finger Snaps and Gun Claps |
| Release Date | 2010-06-15 |
| Description | ? |
| Lyrics | [Verse 1: Killer Reese One] Say buddy you in my lane You backing up the game, you lame, you want fame I can give it to you daddy I ain't took my meds for weeks and I am feeling fucking batty So if I put the tip of this fifth to your dick-sucking lips And I give you the whole clip Then we both get what we want You get on the front page and I get one less chump I encourage all frogs to jump I heard they taste like chicken, and my bitch's in the kitchen With a pot of hot grease, and a couple side dishes Go figure no meat Slice this nigga up so we can eat Killer Reese is on the raps, Troublemaker's on the beat You dudes be talking so street And that talk be sounding tough until you gotta talk to me The authentic is off limits You don't talk to the truth if you talking about gimmicks I am the game, I'm not in it That means fifteen years not fifteen minutes, nigga [Hook] Let's cheer for the bad guy Clap when he get away, live to kill another day Here's a toast to the cutthroats Niggas who ain’t on a list that don’t mind gun smoke To my life-time criminals, remind 'em what fear is, we tired of that weird shit And if you feeling how I'm feeling put your drinks in the air for the lost art of killin' [Verse 2: Killer Reese One] They call me Reese de Uno, the sumo Used to push D, like Kool Moe You know I'm the realest nigga to do this Got a crew of real spitters that'll murder this new shit I encourage LA to stay away From the techno pop of the day, that shit is gay The good ol' years I talk about Is when the loud mouth niggas still got stomped out Now everybody so passive-aggressive You get locked up for teaching niggas a lesson But there's only so much testin' I can take before I break and I expose my weapon I'm out here LA reppin' Last of the heathens, dark heart still beatin' I'm on the west side, geekin' This is the turf that I stick my cleats in You might also like[Hook] Let's cheer for the bad guy Clap when he get away, live to kill another day Here's a toast to the cutthroats Niggas who ain’t on a list that don’t mind gun smoke To my life-time criminals, remind 'em what fear is, we tired of that weird shit And if you feeling how I'm feeling put your drinks in the air for the lost art of killin' |