Home Sweet Funeral Home Lyrics
| Song | Home Sweet Funeral Home |
| Artist | Kool G Rap |
| Album | Roots of Evil |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Carr, Mackie, Wilson | |
| Home sweet funeral home, nigga that's where you're shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn't hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit the pap'll get your arms folded | |
| So now it's home sweet funeral home, nigga that's where you're shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn't hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit this click'll get your arms folded | |
| [papoose] | |
| Who bet they best against mine? | |
| I press the west and let the vest protect mine | |
| Led crimes that head the headlines and spoke cake times | |
| I used ta catch shines | |
| Rockin' when i see you next time | |
| Neva but greater threat, i make mine | |
| Soon as i let the infared shine | |
| Everybody know it's hit the deck time | |
| Don't go against mine | |
| I make a whino bleed red wine | |
| Sometimes my own peoples slick talk, try ta test mine | |
| Get outta line, so i give em deadlines | |
| Even disrespectful respect mine | |
| Light weighted but i rep mine | |
| I don't lift weights, but i bench press a tec 9 | |
| I'm known for holdin' big shit | |
| The last time i showed the biscuit | |
| I made this dude sweat enough bullets ta load a clip wit | |
| When cops drop warrants and try ta get me bagged up | |
| All they hear on they walkie-talkies is "i need back up!" | |
| Papoose the braid blaster since jakes want me in the cage captured | |
| I roll wit more niggas than slave masters | |
| [jinx] | |
| Time ta retaliate, these fellas actin' like they holdin' weight | |
| I froze the gate, walkin' across the seas like a moses maid | |
| Approachin' rappers, me and g rap be the rapper clappers | |
| Shotter wit tecs, we break y'all down like y'all common factors | |
| Steady heat, that's when the juvy proceed | |
| I'm makin' rappers bleed off this rapilism, my feet | |
| I ain't playin' games, y'all rappers betta code in my name | |
| The juvenille strait from brooklyn, wit the slugs of the same | |
| So play you're position, stop it, i makes you grab their attention | |
| Like a magnet ta somethin' metal, so y'all blinkin' and flickin' | |
| I'm takin' over for the 9 era, it's now or never | |
| Cuz when i get in the door, bringin' drama cuz my rhymes is betta | |
| [chorus] | |
| Home sweet funeral home, nigga that's where you're shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn't hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit g rap'll get your arms folded | |
| So now it's home sweet funeral home, nigga that's where you're shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn't hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit this click'll get your arms folded | |
| [kool g rap] | |
| Euology preached by the minister, the sinister diminished ya | |
| You minature, send crazy baby, fifths is ta finish ya | |
| Bust shots ta limit ya, plush glocks ta hemmorrige ya | |
| What cops got the image of, made em block perimeters | |
| They ended up, back in forth beef i walk the streets, neva be prisoner | |
| My lawyer's a close friend of the senator | |
| You was full of shit, you shoulda took a enema | |
| It mighta not been ten of us, murder is turnin' your street into a cinema | |
| Swingin' gats like pendulums, shit out the nine double, i'm him and em | |
| Max wit hundred gats and i'm the minimum | |
| Sendin' em, but sick of all this, i take a step back | |
| And spit the torris in yo moms and chick won't trist ta hit the floor is | |
| Makin' em clip the forest, it's g scar fold | |
| Turnin' yo body weight ta cargo | |
| While i stretch ya, ya bet ya'll lay fall go | |
| Harps played in the dark like he was harpo | |
| Get ya hit quicker than carlo, gambino | |
| Rain on cities like el nino, live well in reno | |
| Scoffed for the card he is in bossolino | |
| Scammin' the profits in casinos | |
| Knock wigs off like therapy wit kimo |
| zuo ci : Carr, Mackie, Wilson | |
| Home sweet funeral home, nigga that' s where you' re shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn' t hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit the pap' ll get your arms folded | |
| So now it' s home sweet funeral home, nigga that' s where you' re shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn' t hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit this click' ll get your arms folded | |
| papoose | |
| Who bet they best against mine? | |
| I press the west and let the vest protect mine | |
| Led crimes that head the headlines and spoke cake times | |
| I used ta catch shines | |
| Rockin' when i see you next time | |
| Neva but greater threat, i make mine | |
| Soon as i let the infared shine | |
| Everybody know it' s hit the deck time | |
| Don' t go against mine | |
| I make a whino bleed red wine | |
| Sometimes my own peoples slick talk, try ta test mine | |
| Get outta line, so i give em deadlines | |
| Even disrespectful respect mine | |
| Light weighted but i rep mine | |
| I don' t lift weights, but i bench press a tec 9 | |
| I' m known for holdin' big shit | |
| The last time i showed the biscuit | |
| I made this dude sweat enough bullets ta load a clip wit | |
| When cops drop warrants and try ta get me bagged up | |
| All they hear on they walkietalkies is " i need back up!" | |
| Papoose the braid blaster since jakes want me in the cage captured | |
| I roll wit more niggas than slave masters | |
| jinx | |
| Time ta retaliate, these fellas actin' like they holdin' weight | |
| I froze the gate, walkin' across the seas like a moses maid | |
| Approachin' rappers, me and g rap be the rapper clappers | |
| Shotter wit tecs, we break y' all down like y' all common factors | |
| Steady heat, that' s when the juvy proceed | |
| I' m makin' rappers bleed off this rapilism, my feet | |
| I ain' t playin' games, y' all rappers betta code in my name | |
| The juvenille strait from brooklyn, wit the slugs of the same | |
| So play you' re position, stop it, i makes you grab their attention | |
| Like a magnet ta somethin' metal, so y' all blinkin' and flickin' | |
| I' m takin' over for the 9 era, it' s now or never | |
| Cuz when i get in the door, bringin' drama cuz my rhymes is betta | |
| chorus | |
| Home sweet funeral home, nigga that' s where you' re shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn' t hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit g rap' ll get your arms folded | |
| So now it' s home sweet funeral home, nigga that' s where you' re shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn' t hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit this click' ll get your arms folded | |
| kool g rap | |
| Euology preached by the minister, the sinister diminished ya | |
| You minature, send crazy baby, fifths is ta finish ya | |
| Bust shots ta limit ya, plush glocks ta hemmorrige ya | |
| What cops got the image of, made em block perimeters | |
| They ended up, back in forth beef i walk the streets, neva be prisoner | |
| My lawyer' s a close friend of the senator | |
| You was full of shit, you shoulda took a enema | |
| It mighta not been ten of us, murder is turnin' your street into a cinema | |
| Swingin' gats like pendulums, shit out the nine double, i' m him and em | |
| Max wit hundred gats and i' m the minimum | |
| Sendin' em, but sick of all this, i take a step back | |
| And spit the torris in yo moms and chick won' t trist ta hit the floor is | |
| Makin' em clip the forest, it' s g scar fold | |
| Turnin' yo body weight ta cargo | |
| While i stretch ya, ya bet ya' ll lay fall go | |
| Harps played in the dark like he was harpo | |
| Get ya hit quicker than carlo, gambino | |
| Rain on cities like el nino, live well in reno | |
| Scoffed for the card he is in bossolino | |
| Scammin' the profits in casinos | |
| Knock wigs off like therapy wit kimo |
| zuò cí : Carr, Mackie, Wilson | |
| Home sweet funeral home, nigga that' s where you' re shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn' t hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit the pap' ll get your arms folded | |
| So now it' s home sweet funeral home, nigga that' s where you' re shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn' t hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit this click' ll get your arms folded | |
| papoose | |
| Who bet they best against mine? | |
| I press the west and let the vest protect mine | |
| Led crimes that head the headlines and spoke cake times | |
| I used ta catch shines | |
| Rockin' when i see you next time | |
| Neva but greater threat, i make mine | |
| Soon as i let the infared shine | |
| Everybody know it' s hit the deck time | |
| Don' t go against mine | |
| I make a whino bleed red wine | |
| Sometimes my own peoples slick talk, try ta test mine | |
| Get outta line, so i give em deadlines | |
| Even disrespectful respect mine | |
| Light weighted but i rep mine | |
| I don' t lift weights, but i bench press a tec 9 | |
| I' m known for holdin' big shit | |
| The last time i showed the biscuit | |
| I made this dude sweat enough bullets ta load a clip wit | |
| When cops drop warrants and try ta get me bagged up | |
| All they hear on they walkietalkies is " i need back up!" | |
| Papoose the braid blaster since jakes want me in the cage captured | |
| I roll wit more niggas than slave masters | |
| jinx | |
| Time ta retaliate, these fellas actin' like they holdin' weight | |
| I froze the gate, walkin' across the seas like a moses maid | |
| Approachin' rappers, me and g rap be the rapper clappers | |
| Shotter wit tecs, we break y' all down like y' all common factors | |
| Steady heat, that' s when the juvy proceed | |
| I' m makin' rappers bleed off this rapilism, my feet | |
| I ain' t playin' games, y' all rappers betta code in my name | |
| The juvenille strait from brooklyn, wit the slugs of the same | |
| So play you' re position, stop it, i makes you grab their attention | |
| Like a magnet ta somethin' metal, so y' all blinkin' and flickin' | |
| I' m takin' over for the 9 era, it' s now or never | |
| Cuz when i get in the door, bringin' drama cuz my rhymes is betta | |
| chorus | |
| Home sweet funeral home, nigga that' s where you' re shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn' t hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit g rap' ll get your arms folded | |
| So now it' s home sweet funeral home, nigga that' s where you' re shown | |
| Call in the cider box, 6 blown in your chest and dome | |
| For tryin' ta hold the fort down, but couldn' t hold it | |
| Cuz fuckin' wit this click' ll get your arms folded | |
| kool g rap | |
| Euology preached by the minister, the sinister diminished ya | |
| You minature, send crazy baby, fifths is ta finish ya | |
| Bust shots ta limit ya, plush glocks ta hemmorrige ya | |
| What cops got the image of, made em block perimeters | |
| They ended up, back in forth beef i walk the streets, neva be prisoner | |
| My lawyer' s a close friend of the senator | |
| You was full of shit, you shoulda took a enema | |
| It mighta not been ten of us, murder is turnin' your street into a cinema | |
| Swingin' gats like pendulums, shit out the nine double, i' m him and em | |
| Max wit hundred gats and i' m the minimum | |
| Sendin' em, but sick of all this, i take a step back | |
| And spit the torris in yo moms and chick won' t trist ta hit the floor is | |
| Makin' em clip the forest, it' s g scar fold | |
| Turnin' yo body weight ta cargo | |
| While i stretch ya, ya bet ya' ll lay fall go | |
| Harps played in the dark like he was harpo | |
| Get ya hit quicker than carlo, gambino | |
| Rain on cities like el nino, live well in reno | |
| Scoffed for the card he is in bossolino | |
| Scammin' the profits in casinos | |
| Knock wigs off like therapy wit kimo |
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