to me..your dead to me.. death, death, your soon to be dead, i got a 12 gage under my chin, death, death, your soon to be dead, i got a 12 gage under
翻訳: 死去して. 頭がおかしい.
t make it Dead to me- you re dead to me- you re dead to me, all dead to me Dead dead you re soon to be dead I put a 12-gauge under my chin Dead to me-
the getaway spot in a jiffy Leave all the does behind that act iffy We got maneuvers, that's hard to beat Till the other side retreats under six feet
Scary Movie, bad is to evil, the roofie to Roethlisberger [Royce Da 5'9"] You are gonna wind up six feet deep Under that shits creek so I hope that
so surprisin' You know we plan on you demisin' So playa you gon' be six feet and under While I'm 300 feet and risin', BITCH! (We off what we all)? Sick
f/ Don Juan * send corrections to the typist [Tech N9ne] You want me to jam I'm finna enter Brain waves came from insane days Make ya sick like
We take no haters for granted They crisscross Ten seconds till lift off Be soaked in pistol grip sauce Ripped off The techniques complete heat Retreat six feet Under six feet
& Timbaland] Get your big head on the floor (get your big head on the floor) You ain't ever seen me move like this Get your big head on the floor (
lose my head like years ago Sticks and stones break bones but what I say'll hurt you worse Leavin' you feelin' dead an' buried like you're six feet under
Sick, dirty and mean Head-hunters cut you down If you wanna be a songbird - there's an axe to clip your wings Sick, dirty and mean It's a killing machine Sick, dirty and mean Sick
Murdered in the basement, blood stains on cement Murdered in the basement, a hammer to the head Murdered in the basement, something's rotten in the cellar
roof like the flid Rod Hull We want people to sing all our songs And the nuns at St. Joseph's rappin' on smokin' bongs We wanna be remembered when we're six feet under
inhaling my decrepit funk My organs and entrails you delightfully assailed Thrashing mound of thoracic de-activity A lover you have found, six feet
of dischord and dismay Suppurated sonatas erupt, purulent pizzicatos Slicing every which way, the truncated cadence is sundered bloody Scraps of sheet music unintellibly scrawled threnodies resonate Six feet under
around your dead body Abandon ship, niggaz are ready to flip and bag a punk They can't fight next night, twistalism by your grave sight Over, yes, you over six feet under
acid rain dances right in front of me. I want my hair cut, I want my pants back, I want a moustache damn it. I stand with my feet shoulder width apart
