Who Killed Kenny? lyrics

[Verse 1]
Talking 'bout this round 2 b*tch we're ain't done with round one
All them n*ggas around you I bet when I up they ass run
My block got crazy guns, and we shoot them hoes for fun
Squeeze the trigger 'till my hand numb if you scared go to curch see revrend rum
Get loud and still hit you, call that sh*t an and one
Talking all this money sh*t and yo' ass ain't spent a bands once
I dont know what you heard but b*tch n*gga im certified
Hit stains like my name was tide, 45 holes right in between yo eyes
Kill your roofie and all your guys, b*tch n*ggas get no respect
I dont even know why I ain't knock your head of your shoulders yet
b*tch I'm in the hood everyday, and I stand there yet
From the eastside to out west, 50 shot macs hundred shot techs
Call your mom a ho im hella dreadful we got a bad [?] tooka lay your ass to rest
Weak ass tryna' diss the best if you ain't pass the quiz how you check the test?
Chopper bullets rip through your flesh, oh yo' ass gon' try to run?
Bullets go, through ya' back, through ya' lungs then out ya' chest
Then yo' ass gon' look down and realize that your shirt is wet
b*tch and dudes tryna' play with me I quiz fools cause of re-sets
Bullets hit you from ya' zipper to ya' belly button to ya' V-neck
Thinking life a f*cking game well f*ck n*gga no resets
So you know there ain't no re-wind, but the shells'll fast forward
Have your whole block paranoid pull up smoking strong call it steroid
Hop out like the big boys stretch sh*t like a limo
Thirty shot extendo, kill you and all your kin folks
My flow heroin I been dope, hit yo' ass with the fo-fo'
Then put a zam by the foe, bullets in it like an open do'
I have kenny's ass hit the red stuff, right there on the f*cking flo'
b*tch ass coughing up blood, now his ass can't rap no mo'

[Interlude]

[Verse 2]
Answer the phone, b*tch n*gga
It's shots callin'
Why the f*ck you's actin' tough
Knowin' damn well you from South Holland
Shoot ya in ya mouth, that’s no talkin'
Makin' diss songs, that's a quick coffin
Get a sh*t bag, that’s no walkin'
Now his ass gon' need some crutches
Gregory you is not on nothin'
And ya brother Floyd is a pancake
I shoot the chopper until my hands ache
Then cook his ass like a damn steak
Mad cuz he couldn’t get a hand shake
Now you a rapper, boy pump ya brakes
Talk about ya name is “Kenny Red”
We’ll change ya name to “Red Velvet Cake”
First of all you is not a hitter, cuz you robbed my mans for like 3 bags
But you ain’t even gon' tell the fans, your brotha' sittin' in the hospital first class
Let’s keep it hood, you made a video called “In The Field” but you was “In The House”
And ya bm, wit' all of them cold sores, cuz she had them racks put around ya mouth
Goofy ass took the wrong route
We can box it out or shoot it out
Tryna get some fame, up off my name
Boy you a lame wit' no clout
Talkin' ‘bout I better buckle up, boy I stay strapped no G belt
If I raise my arm, it do bodily harm
But this b*tch n*gga did it to hisself
Rico Recklezz, who f*ckin’ wit me?
Bendin' blocks through Drill City
50 Shots in the fast MAC, hoe ass saw me and real life
And he damn near had a heart attack
Have Sandra come suck my di*k
“Now Rico that’s some Recklezz sh*t”
I'on care if that’s the mother
She better be lucky I ain’t rock the b*tch
And I be in Dro City
Ask Woo, he f*ck wit me
And a n*gga used to f*ck wit' Pac
But if I shoot Kenny wit' the MAC
Then he gon' be dead like Kenny Mac
Matter fact, f*ck Kenny Mac
Whoops I meant f*ck Kenny Red
“FTO” mean “f*ck The Opps”
But “FTF” mean “f*ck The Feds”
R.I.P to Kenny Red
Ask around I love blood shed

[Break]

[Verse 3]
Talk about you wear camouflage
Well I keep a gun like a G.I. Joe
First you tried to do a song with me
Then you tried to shoot a n*gga video
I ain’t give yo ass no tick
You a lame and I know dis'
You gon' need a whole role of tissue for all this blood since you bleedin' b*tch
I keep the pole like a street light
And I use the hammer like I’m doing construction
Shoot 50 shots at ya f*ckin' face
And then I call that sh*t mass destruction
I’m Rico Recklezz but call me Elmer Fudd, when a n*gga go and grab the shotty
Bullets fast like a Kawasaki
Gregory Richardson lyin' on tracks, knowin' that he ain’t shot nobody
I go crazy like a maniac, let the 40 off where ya brains at
f*ck around, knock off the whole side of yo mobile home
Outline Kenny in red chalk, what the f*ck is he on
Mad cuz I wouldn’t do a song
Too bad I don’t f*ck with peons
Spray the 30 at ya momma knee on
I’m goin' fast let me slow up
I be bands pourin' up that purple stuff
Go ahead pour it in my cup
So I can hit the blunt, and then take a slurp
Hit the blunt, and then take a slurp
Take a slurp then a n*gga burp
f*ck around, let that 40 j*rk
Leave blood all on his shirt
Don’t let this n*gga fool y'all, he not on sh*t wit' me
Foenem’ll pistol whip his baby momma then gon' rape lil Trinity
b*tch n*gga I said f*ck yo' daughter
Talkin' bout I done dropped a dime
Give her a .25 that’s a whole quarter
But ya ass ain’t worth a dollar, doin' hits outta a all black Impala
Then stomp Kenny out wit' Red Pradas
All my n*ggas they straight pirahnas, eat ya up, comprende?
Adios, signin' off

[Break]

[Verse 4]
Talkin' bout, this ain’t got sh*t to do with my f*ckin' squad
When all ya n*ggas f*ck wit' me and they told my ass you a f*ckin' fraud
Boy you foul like you took a charge, so you know you gotta get the “TEC”
Kill Floyd dead his ass next
He ain’t no f*ckin' loco
He a clown n*gga, I’m talkin' Bozo
He Bozo, and you Krusty
Yo' momma came and then sucked my di*k
And asked if I bust don’t rush me
Y'all n*ggas from South Holland, down the street from Cal. City
Right next door to Dolton
Goofy ass done f*ckin' lost it
Catch yo ass on Cotts Grove then smoke Floyd at South Hoffman
Truth is y'all some f*ckin' lames
If you lookin' for me, I’m on 75th and Stewart, wit' all of them insanes