killa lyrics – cam’ron

(with vado)

[verse 1: cam’ron]
i might long mink it
or fly fox it
might floor seat it
or skybox it
what’s in my pocket? don’t worry i got it
araab hit em with a sky rocket
you a love cuffer, me and my blood brothers?
cook the beef like fuddruckers, duck sucker
what i think of them? i ain’t no judge, f*cker
what i deal with? nothin’ but drugs, brother
smack ya girl, kill ya pops, take ya mother
stab ya aunt, hit ya sis, duct tape ya brother
first drawer is all suede, jamaican colors
make em take cover
me? i teach laundering
coke, please bond with me
only time you meet girls on e-harmony
the block, i treat, like the pharmacy
from the back of delanor to the armory
(killa, killa, killa, killa…)

[verse 2: vado]
yo, if these walls could speak, they’d tell me “let’s go! ”
like wall street, billy first, meeko and gecko
was ambitious, determined i’m in joe pesch mode
they put my name in the black book cause they petro
black retro’s, yeah them 60 plus
and black expo, necks broke just to look at us
ridiculous delivery, the boss type
she fell in love with my kick game like paw spikes
half the sh*t, you spit plain, you part nice
half the brick is cooked cain, that’s hard white
automar bright, all the haters respect it
feel like the governor in the schwarzenegger collection
i’m just f*ckin’ them, i don’t care who she slept with
shorty only good for the throat like chloraseptic
these rappers hot combs, your boy the next pick
i don’t straighten it out, get blown when the tech spit
(killa, killa, killa, killa…)

[verse 3: vado]
yo i was always a smart *ss, pullin’ bm’s out of park ave
hand the rock to em off the ground like a bounce p*ss
(coke cash!)
so was my heart when the pound blast
you could f*ck up some paper just make sure gutter mouth stash
no outkast, love me low in the big boi
border her *ss, throw some d’s on it like rich boy
benz high cl*ss, crown vic’s be our 6-4
sh*t is like crenshaw, way to be blood and crip calls

[verse 4: cam’ron]
he ain’t lying get thrown from the 6th floor
blown from the 4-5 my d*ck in ya b*tch jaw
all them diamonds that’s what my wrist for
any problems? that’s what the clique for
f*ck a big tour, i sail on the sick sh*r*
girls are like lotto, doggy i pick 4
word, homie
they phony
macy’s, neiman’s, bloomy’s they know me
(killa, killa, killa, killa…)

/ cam ron lyrics