Hell Kim (feat. Diavlo Santana & Lp Rambo)

Shhh, shhh, you'll be fine

Dead bitch in a Chevy trunk with her side nigga and a stepson
When her legs upped, what was sealed broke
Now her other laying with a sketched tongue by a dead son
If 12 comes, we went out of town in two separate cars, and she left, uhhh to get a Different purse, cause what she had was jacked, fore we fled the
Floor, cause we almost missed the check out time
Pray to god, no one heard the lead bust
But no neighbors complaining, it's been a few hours
All will be sweet when I smoke on this sour
You read my face and can't tell my intentions
Description is glistening retinas from loud
That I mixed with some powder
I'm itchin' to kill like the heels of Godzilla's in poisonous flowers

When there's treason, there's no speaking
No wrongdoing, there's no pleading
No dishonor, there's no bleeding
You don't start shit, then there's no the end
There's no sneaking, there's no creeping
There's no speaking, there's no wheezin'
There's no blaming on the seasons (Yuh)
There's no lash if there's no reason (Yuh)

Choppin' bodies, watch the blood spill
She was unfaithful, so I had to go get the kill
Think we violent? Fuck yo' opinion
Bitch, we loose screws, nigga we'll shoot at civilians
Pull up to her house, douse her couch in some gas
Lit my blunt first, then I watch her soul pass
Pull up to her house, douse her couch in some gas
Lit my blunt first, then I watch her soul pass, get 'em!

When there's treason, there's no speaking
No wrongdoing, there's no pleading
No dishonor, there's no bleeding
You don't start shit, then there's no the end
There's no sneaking, there's no creeping
There's no speaking, there's no wheezin'
There's no blaming on the seasons
There's no lash if there's no reason

It ain't up to me, these bullets will pick 'em
My niggas is dogs, I tell they ass: "sic him!"
He was a G, but now he a victim
We bout to spin on that block and then blick him
Blick him, blick him, blick him, blick him
You love these hoes? We be tryna' trick 'em
Ain't dropping a dime, not even a nickle
Left on the floor, he smelling like pickles
Girl I'm a auto, that boy a lil' pistol
He never once had his prints on them pistols
You hit my gas, it might have you tripping
Might feel like a hit in the chest from a missile
Missile, missile, missile, missile
Gotta talk big, I ain't come here for little
He acting hard, but he really brittle
It's me and then him, but the heat in the middle

When there's treason, there's no speaking
No wrongdoing, there's no pleading
No dishonor, there's no bleeding
You don't start shit, then there's no the end
There's no sneaking, there's no creeping
There's no speaking, there's no wheezin'
There's no blaming on the seasons
There's no lash if there's no reason