Song Lyrics

Problem
Tell 'em
Machete gang
Ask no question
Suicidal to the death
Don't f*ck around, we'll pump some shot up in your chest
We don't walk 'round with no vest
Don't f*ck around, we'll pump some shot up in your chest

Non frega un cazzo a me
Se questa merda non va in radio
Se non va in Top 10
Scemo, parlo un altro slang
Giriamo incappucciati come gli Anunnaki
Gli appunti urlano "Fermi" con i ferri già puntati e bang
Credevo alla giustizia, ho visto un socio mio pestato
Lì ho pensato "Sono un bastardo senza Dio né stato"
Nelle piazze, nelle case, come al bar nei weekend
Se ti beccano farai au revoir al tuo Audemars Piguet

Ok, wait wait, brada
Com'è che se va magra vai di spada tipo JJ Abrams
Terrore ad ogni play se c'è il mio tape in sala
Voglio l'Hall of Fame, ascolto Tame Impala
Se vuoi faccio il translate, fake, impara
Più infami e lolite che squali a Recife
Più leche de tigre nel mio ceviche
Fai il capo quando sei il vice
Non vali neanche due lire
La fine del mio regime
Da fasci contro compagni, a gattini contro sardine, eh eh
Quando il dubbio mi possiede, il trucco si intravede
Ma finché puzzo di potere ho il lusso di godere
Dammi il mic, homicide, così vedi che combino
Dove stai? Fuori o dentro?
Sei peggio di un secondino

Murda, murda, murda
Say we not afraid of people f*ck what you heard of
We bust open the gates I enter where we murda
So, please don't test me faith and stir up me hunger

Yuh, di-di-di-di-di-did it off mystic
Mac one shot, might let it off script this
All this scribble, they ain't never lost ain't no games
My grind they never soft big man like me
Ain't never gonna let 'em off realest nigga that ever, ever was, ever, ever was
Shut it, set it off, litty buzzin' off cocaine
And I made the record, the brethren can never phantom of the level
That my brothers couldn't live it to ahead of us
Eminem and any American that is leveling, I'm pretty but had to put an end of it
I've never been a brother they could sit on and sitting was like a sussing
And I've been to the point that they tapping on a McGregor tee
You know my style, and you gotta hold my style
They ain't bled enough for it, anything
Wait, wait, brotha (hold up)
I just looked across my bench-press and saw eight plates, brotha
You ain't liftin' more than eighty off the eight states cut-up
I was rippin' eighty ten times in the eighth grade, wallah
Played Beyblade, brotha
You ain't no bad boy, really
After this one drops, I'm confident whether Milan gon' feel me
After this one drops, I'm givin' you suttin' a tad more drilly
After that one's dropped, I'm giving up, my dad gon' kill me
Like "Wizzy, you mad boy, silly"
Nah, Dad, I'ma bust quick, maybe in profit
You finna lock in or lock off, amigo
If I'm chillin' with Bob in Milan with the squad
And you really gon' bop to Nitro
If you're chillin' with her and he a double agent
You think he's a boss or a pedo
I can't believe they're mad
Got dem men all walking around with a Robert De Niro
Them man are weirdos, I forget

Murda, murda, murda
Say we not afraid of people f*ck what you heard of
We bust open the gates I enter where we murda
So, please don't test me faith and stir up me hunger

Murda, murda, murda
Say we not afraid of people f*ck what you heard of
We bust open the gates I enter where we murda
Me buddie are the ruffest that you ever heard of

E se non so chi sei
Bussi nella notte e puoi
E quando ti incontro sai
Cristo, vedo solo guai
Ahi, ahi

Nicola Albera

The duration of Murdamurdamurda is 3:32 minutes and seconds.