UGK - Murder
[Produced by Pimp C]
[Intro: Esé]
Fuck this motherfucker, he just got love, you know what I mean?
Because we got to get out here, ain't no place here for us
You know what I mean? But that motherfucker, I need to kill him
That's all
[Chorus]
(Huh),
(Talkin' 'bout a murder), mur—
(Huh),
(Check it out)
[Verse 1: Pimp C]
I'm still Pimp C, bitch, so what the fuck is up?
Puttin' powder on the streets 'cause I got big fuckin' nuts
Comin' back from Louisiana in a Fleetwood 'Lac
I just served them niggas some shit to put they fiends on they back
Got the pounds going for four 'cause you know I just paid two
Nigga bought thirty from me, so I fronted forty-two
He gon' pop for seven hundred times sixty-two
Twenty-four eight is what I get, so nigga, fuck what you do
If I told ya cocaine numbers, you would think I was lyin'
Young-ass niggas, twenty-two, is talkin' 'bout they retirin'
In the game, ain't a thang, comin' foreign with Benz
Brick-ass home, two apartments where I entertain friends
More bounce to the ounce 'cause the Brougham the shit
I done got me fifty ounces out a bird in this bitch
Tighten up, no slack, bitches checkin' my stock
Got some birds I sell to niggas, some I go rock for rock
Just got back from California, kicked it with B-Legit
Put me down with purple chronic and that hurricane shit
At the studio with Tone, man, I wish I could stay
I got to holla at Master P 'cause we got money to make
And when playas from the South stack G's, man
Like Ball, I gotta stack big cheese, man
Bitch say he want a show, you got nine grand?
I ain't rappin' shit until my money in my hand
South Texas, motherfucker, that's where I stay
Gettin' money from your bitches every goddamn day
Big paper, I'm foldin' (Foldin')
Hoes is on my motherfuckin' jock for all this dick that I be holdin'
I hate clone men, show it
Especially them fools that take our style and act like my niggas don't know it
Kick it with the trill niggas, so you best not trip
If ya keep on poppin' shit, my nigga, empty the clip, ho-ass nigga
[Chorus]
[Verse 2: Bun B]
Well, it's Bun B, bitch, and I'm the king of movin' chickens
Not them finger-lickings, stickin' niggas that be trickin'
You need a swift kickin', your ass is ripe for the pickin'
Now as my pockets thicken, I'm deep-thinkin', nickel-slickin'
You sick when I be clickin', now take a look at the bigger nigga
Malt liquor swigger, player hater ditch digger
Figure my hair trigger give a hot one in your liver
You shiver, shake, and quiver
I'm frivolous if a nigga get wetter than a river
For what it's worth, it's the birth of some niggas doin' dirt
Fuck her first night, take off the skirt, make her pussy hurt
Mister Master, hit the Swisha faster
Than you fever blistered bastards, fucked your sister, passed her
Fifty elbows for sale, yo
Brother better have my mail, ho
'Fore I catch a murder case and go to jail, oh
Hell no, time to bail, hit the trail so
We can sell more fuckin' yayo, get the scale, no
Other bullet duckers can shove us out of this game
They better buck us, 'cause the cluckers, they love us
Make them glass dick suckers shake they jelly like Smucker's
I hit like nunchakus, 'cause Short Texas bring the ruckus
This for my motherfuckers, cookin' cheese to crooked Gs
Rockin' up quarter keys to get the hook with ease
Wanna-bes get on your knees, feel the squeeze from them HK13s
From here to overseas, we do what we please
Don't trip 'cause we flip, light up a dip
I'm breakin' 'em off from they hip to your lip
Go ask that boy Skip, that nigga Bun rip
With one clip, soon as the gun slip
Now I done whipped out my Barrelli, flyin' through your Pelle Pelle
And some smelly red jelly is drippin' out of ya belly
Served 'em up like a deli, jumped on my cellular tele'
Ho, sell it like it's goin' out of style
You can't see me, Marcus
So have a motherfuckin' Sweet and a smile
[Chorus]
[Intro: Esé]
Fuck this motherfucker, he just got love, you know what I mean?
Because we got to get out here, ain't no place here for us
You know what I mean? But that motherfucker, I need to kill him
That's all
[Chorus]
(Huh),
(Talkin' 'bout a murder), mur—
(Huh),
(Check it out)
[Verse 1: Pimp C]
I'm still Pimp C, bitch, so what the fuck is up?
Puttin' powder on the streets 'cause I got big fuckin' nuts
Comin' back from Louisiana in a Fleetwood 'Lac
I just served them niggas some shit to put they fiends on they back
Got the pounds going for four 'cause you know I just paid two
Nigga bought thirty from me, so I fronted forty-two
He gon' pop for seven hundred times sixty-two
Twenty-four eight is what I get, so nigga, fuck what you do
If I told ya cocaine numbers, you would think I was lyin'
Young-ass niggas, twenty-two, is talkin' 'bout they retirin'
In the game, ain't a thang, comin' foreign with Benz
Brick-ass home, two apartments where I entertain friends
More bounce to the ounce 'cause the Brougham the shit
I done got me fifty ounces out a bird in this bitch
Tighten up, no slack, bitches checkin' my stock
Got some birds I sell to niggas, some I go rock for rock
Just got back from California, kicked it with B-Legit
Put me down with purple chronic and that hurricane shit
At the studio with Tone, man, I wish I could stay
I got to holla at Master P 'cause we got money to make
And when playas from the South stack G's, man
Like Ball, I gotta stack big cheese, man
Bitch say he want a show, you got nine grand?
I ain't rappin' shit until my money in my hand
South Texas, motherfucker, that's where I stay
Gettin' money from your bitches every goddamn day
Big paper, I'm foldin' (Foldin')
Hoes is on my motherfuckin' jock for all this dick that I be holdin'
I hate clone men, show it
Especially them fools that take our style and act like my niggas don't know it
Kick it with the trill niggas, so you best not trip
If ya keep on poppin' shit, my nigga, empty the clip, ho-ass nigga
[Chorus]
[Verse 2: Bun B]
Well, it's Bun B, bitch, and I'm the king of movin' chickens
Not them finger-lickings, stickin' niggas that be trickin'
You need a swift kickin', your ass is ripe for the pickin'
Now as my pockets thicken, I'm deep-thinkin', nickel-slickin'
You sick when I be clickin', now take a look at the bigger nigga
Malt liquor swigger, player hater ditch digger
Figure my hair trigger give a hot one in your liver
You shiver, shake, and quiver
I'm frivolous if a nigga get wetter than a river
For what it's worth, it's the birth of some niggas doin' dirt
Fuck her first night, take off the skirt, make her pussy hurt
Mister Master, hit the Swisha faster
Than you fever blistered bastards, fucked your sister, passed her
Fifty elbows for sale, yo
Brother better have my mail, ho
'Fore I catch a murder case and go to jail, oh
Hell no, time to bail, hit the trail so
We can sell more fuckin' yayo, get the scale, no
Other bullet duckers can shove us out of this game
They better buck us, 'cause the cluckers, they love us
Make them glass dick suckers shake they jelly like Smucker's
I hit like nunchakus, 'cause Short Texas bring the ruckus
This for my motherfuckers, cookin' cheese to crooked Gs
Rockin' up quarter keys to get the hook with ease
Wanna-bes get on your knees, feel the squeeze from them HK13s
From here to overseas, we do what we please
Don't trip 'cause we flip, light up a dip
I'm breakin' 'em off from they hip to your lip
Go ask that boy Skip, that nigga Bun rip
With one clip, soon as the gun slip
Now I done whipped out my Barrelli, flyin' through your Pelle Pelle
And some smelly red jelly is drippin' out of ya belly
Served 'em up like a deli, jumped on my cellular tele'
Ho, sell it like it's goin' out of style
You can't see me, Marcus
So have a motherfuckin' Sweet and a smile
[Chorus]
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