Shiva Call - Ill Bill, Stu Bangas, Goretex

Anyone ever die in your arms you cock sucker?

A family member?

Someone you love?

No

Well give it time, see if I can’t make that happen for you

Fit chrome stick up kids and coke sluts

My friends rip ATMs out of walls with tow trucks

Bunch of crazy eddies with machetes

Sprinkle a little snow up top instead of cherries

They had a shoot out in the lobby

A hollow ricocheted off the intercom knob and popped little Tommy

The projects gave me a sense of humor

Fuck expensive shooters

My goons are Freddy Krugers

Love my jacuzzi and my limousine

But all I need is my Uzi and my triple beam

Flirting with tenderonies, perverted ceremonies

Pour a little liquor for our dead homies

Pour a little liquor for our dead homies

Pour a little liquor for our dead homies

Kill any fella

After prosciutto, oil and mozzarella, mortadella

Dave Mustaine veins, hit 'em like Lou Piniella

Baking soda, undercovers looking like Yani

They want coke

Stu gobbled up in the Maserati cutting soap

Ten commandments

Get them bagged up, elephant grams

80's fishscale like pelicans, Cubans with twenty plants

All she wanna do is dance, Van Halen coke vixen

Met her on Souther and Pickern, face mask tradition

Windows tinted like the eye on a pigeon, surgical precision

Stove tops, cook crack and crush victims

Hebrew scholar, from the Omni car for a dollar

Spit the Kabala, MC Lyte razors taped to my collar

Stay hot 'cause I got the same tailor as Tex Watson

Impaled Nazarene in the Datsun

From Brooklyn to Yonkers

Pour a little liquor for our dead homies

Pour a little liquor for our dead homies

Pour a little liquor for our dead homies