Fresh From The Morgue (Remix)

Bronzeman's ill, fresh from the morgue
 Spit fentanyl pills 'til you hang by the cord
 KXNG Crooked's ill, fresh from the morgue (fresh)
 West Side's best, put your bets on the floor
 My bitch, she's ill, fresh from the morgue (fresh)
 Gold with that chest with a 224
 Yeah, you fall asleep like you rest in the morgue
 I'mma keep it raw, change my lawn to a shore, nigga
 I'm ill, chains to the back of a gorilla
 Records so sharp DJs scratch their finger
 We chop trees, never yellin' "Timber"
 Float off on leaves, cough and wheeze, a Magellan drifter
 Off the Richter, scale triple-beam, coffin-lifter
 Subliminal seminal, often lifted
 Incredibly criminal, how it goes off on the discus
 Breakfast is my lunch
 The feds heard my song, now they wanna search my trunk
 Told 'em, "Got that white in the sheets of that numb"
 Photo-copied bright, I'm that sun in your palm
 Turned 'em zombie-white like the sickness in the morn'
 Impregnate the song
 Molotov tossed, detonate, engulf my blogs
 Take what I want, you niggas still beggin'
 And I don't got no jewelry to flaunt, I bought a building
 Sicilians and gold Brazilians over my lap like pavilions
 If anyone dare touch 'em, they might as well commit 'em
 That boy hit a citizen
 Stretched out, will he live again?
 Niggas askin' "Is we hard?"
 That's the type of shit I disregard (disregard)
 Crooked got an automatic rifle longer than the wingspan of Yao Ming
 That'll knock the Polo logo off your shirt from over 50 yards (50 yards)
 If you ain't with the shits, then be quiet
 Sensitive hair triggers will bless you soon as you sneeze by it
 The arm's longest dull Sim or Street Fighter, my Eastsider (word)
 You goin' out like a cheap lighter (word)
 C-O-B is the religion, I ain't dealing with none of you spiritual tricks
 Unless G-O-D is the magician
 P-O-P, hold it down
 You can say you wear a crown
 But that's equivalent to thinkin' DLC is a physician, listen
 Real kings do real things
 For your bumbaclot cheddar, I toast you quicker than grilled cheese
 I rose solo even though I grew up with real Gs
 My Smith's on me, that's my bit, call me
 Like Little C's
 Bobby Steel and Bronze Nazareth, combination's too hazardous
 The afflictions, the past descriptions, known by no more adjectives
 Beyond fabulous, gets more stars than asterisks
 Well, I've been sent by the most high, quick the star catalyst
 Crumbled MCs, keep a pocket full of crumbled cheese
 Not a tuna fish, but I been in a can with bumblebees
 Raw is ill, sickness can't be cured by small pills
 Take large corporate checks, and cash 'em in small bills
 Keep the gat in a shoulder strap, quicker than a Kodak snap
 Twist a nigga wig back like a fuckin' soda cap
 Nigga, ain't supposed to rap, I make movies
 Them boys poke they chest out, like they fake boobies
 Put some D's on it, put some cheese on it
 The blunt is split open, nigga, put some trees on it
 But listen, this bishop-realistic-rap-mystic
 Got more rhymes and beats than I could ever solicit
 So I give you a freebie
 You better smile when you see me
 Poppin' on your silver screen or upon your T.V
 B-O-B-B-Y? Because we like you
 D-I-G-I-T-A-L, still hard as hell and rock bells
 Motherfucker, flip the head, I take the tails
 They must've missed it, son, the digit
 They didn't know we had jelly on the biscuit
 So they foolish
 Why would this, motherfucker risk it?
 Just to become another police statistic?
 Bronzeman's ill, fresh from the morgue
 Spit fentanyl pills 'til you hang by the cord
 KXNG Crooked's ill, fresh from the morgue (fresh)
 West Side's best, put your bets on the floor
 My bitch, she's ill, fresh from the morgue (fresh)
 Gold with that chest with a 224
 Yeah, you fall asleep like you rest in the morgue
 I'mma keep it raw, change my lawn to a shore
 Bob is ill, ill, ill, Bob is ill
 Bronze is ill, ill, ill, Bronze is ill
 This is ill, ill, son, this is ill
 Bob is ill, son, boy, Bronze is ill