Tekster: K-Rino. Annihilation Of The Evil Machine. Wicked Land.

[Verse 1:]
Before your mug turns, execution of slug perms
Thugs yearn for the status in money that drugs earn
Boys love searn, mission to stay above worms
For the bread chicks stay on they knees like bug worms
We don't tell jokes, better boat when ya smell smoke
We illiterate hustlers we can't even spell broke
Youngstas sell dope and contribute to jail gross
Snitches tell folks who working ending up in twelve-O's
Still we rush through, barricades that touch you
Bullets crush you and persecute with forty bust you
You'll be superbly, with the court and the judge search me
They don't love mercy; cops are racist and blood thirsty
They submit plans, hustlers get around like wristbands
You ain't gotta pay a hit man seventy-six grand
In a big chance you better be slick with quick hands
And try'na never sell a stand by the fan where the ship lands

[Hook: x2]
From the time the sunrise they devise no good
If you a G then I know I just described yo hood
If you not better watch where your driver stand
Or mess around and make a wrong turn in the wicked land

[Verse 2:]
When the walk rose, more soul gets foreclose
Cats are hard nose; get us they arm like torso
Cars blow, up in inter-spark modes a charcoal
Nark's roll through and beat up youngsta's on dark roads
Praminite try and grab thieves framing you finding scaps
[?] on slabs being an examinee crime labs (yeah)
And every picture the portraits a mad man
Torturous bad man with corpses in trash cans
Boy you Mr. Clean, plus you greener than Listerine
You ain't live to see the wicked extremes the pistol brings
Houses fit for kings, bosses who have you kissing rings
Explicit things the victims be hoping that it's a dream
But as sure as I'm rapping, this ain't no tourist attraction
The impurest of acts is crafted by hooded assassins
A mob target, they'll spark it in his apartment
Wife and daughter get home they'll be walking the red carpet

[Hook x2]

[Verse 3:]
We take hearts, and vacation in Saint Barts
Breaking bank faults, we so wicked we shank thoughts
See we fire straps, ammo try'na to frier cams
Iron claps on the crying rath wearing wire taps
Straight raw foes, high weapons inside clothes
Can't describe those, three shots but five holes
Chasing pesos fools auction in they souls
Try'na make doe, we got judges on payrolls
Got the cerve famous, specializing in bird maintenance
We serve daily stellify ducking the surveillance
Pink shirt rippers, the enemy hersh flippers
Better work with us, tricks try'na converse strippers
Worldwide anthems, we too rugged to ride fathoms
Haters dying, cramping, killers hiding inside mansions
Then a slaughter move, you ain't leaving you outta dude
Will expose the intestinal fortitude part of you, yeah

Yeah
Ya boy K-Rino
This goes out to every ghetto every hood in the world
Shoutout to my homie the Re-Up Entertainment
Third Ward
Erowid Homes
Shoutout to the Brick Boyz, South Park, Fifth Ward
Vice Lords, G's, B's & C's, the VA's
Canna Court, Sterling Wood, Southeast