We use cookies to customize content and advertising, to provide social media features, and to analyze traffic to our site. We also share information about your use of our site with our trusted social media, advertising and analytics partners. Read more.

    UGK / Lyrics

    Playlist 1 Rate 0 Like & Share Print Email Play

    "Murder" Lyrics


    Rank: (−)
    −/5 from 0 users
    Charts: view all »
    Referring urls:view all »



    Verse One: {Pimp C}

    I'm still Pimp C bitch so what the fuck is up?
    I'm puttin' powder on the streets cuz I got
    Big fuckin' nut's comin' back from Louisiana
    In a Fleetwood Lana
    I deserve them nigga's shit to put they pea's on they banner
    Got the pound four by four cuz you know I just
    Pay to nigga bought thirty from me
    So I fronted forty two, he gonna pop to seven hundred
    Times sixty two, twenty four eight is what I do
    So fuck what 'cha do
    If I told ya cocaine number's you think I was lyin'
    Young nigga's twenty two talkin' bout they retirin'
    In the game ain't a thang comin' far then we been
    Rick's home two apartment's where enter
    Tight friends mo bounce to the ounce
    Cuz the Wood the shit, I done got me
    Fifty ounces out of birds ya bitch
    Tightin' up no slack bitches checkin' my stock
    Got some Burban City nigga's so I'm a go to my garage
    Just got back from California kicked it with B-Legit
    Put me down with purple chronic and that hurricane shit
    At the studio with Tom, I wish I could stay
    I got to holla at Master P, cuz we got money to make
    We with playa'z from the South stack gee'z man
    Like Ball I got to stack big cheeze man
    Bitch say he wanna show ya
    You got nine grand I ain't rappin' shit
    Till my money in my hand
    South Texas mutherfucka that's where I stay
    Gettin' money from yo bitches every
    Got damn day
    Big paper I'm foldin'
    Hoes is on my mutherfuckin' jock
    For all this dick I be holdin'
    I hate grown man show it
    Especially if a fool take our style and
    Act like my nigga's don't know it
    I kick it with the trill nigga's so you best's
    Not trip if ya keep on talkin' shit
    My nigga empty the clip
    Hoe azz nigga


    Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
    Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
    Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
    Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder
    Murder, Mur, Mur, Murder

    Verse Two: {Bun-B}

    Well this Bun-B bitch and I'm the king
    I'm movin' chickens got 'em finger lickin'
    Stickin' nigga's who be trippin'
    You need a swift kickin' yo azz is right for the pickin'
    Now down as my pocket's stickin'
    I be thinkin' nigga's slippin' you sick
    When I be clickin' now take a look at the
    Bigger nigga Marl liquor swigger
    Playa hata ditch digger figure
    My hair trigger you bound one hot one in yo liver
    You shiver shake and quiver
    I'm free from nigga you wetter den a river
    For what it's worth it's suburblous some nigga's doin' dirt
    Fuck her first and take off her skirt
    Make the pussy hurt Mister Master
    Hit the Swisha faster then you keep a
    Blister bastard fuck her sister faster
    Hit the elbro for sale yo
    Brother better have my mail hoe
    Before I catch a murder case and go to jail hoe
    Hell no, time to bail hit the trail so
    We can sell mo fuckin' yell get the scale
    No other bullet duck or get shoved
    Inside this game they better buck us
    Cuz the clucker's they love us
    Make them class dick suckers
    Check they jelly like smoker's
    I hit like nun-chuckers
    Cuz Short Texas bring the rukus
    This for my muthfucker's
    Cookin' cheese to crooked geez
    Rockin' up quarter key's
    Just to get the hook with ease
    Wanna bee's get on yo knee's
    Fill the squeeze from them HK one three's
    >From here to over sea's
    We do what we please
    No trip cuz we flip
    Light up a dip
    I'm breakin' 'em off from they hip to yo lip
    Go ask that boy Skip
    That nigga Bun rip
    With one clip, soon as the gun slip
    Now I done ripped out my Barile
    Flyin' through yo belly belly and
    Some smelly red jelly is drippin' out of ya belly
    Servin' 'em like a Deli jumped on my cellular telli
    Hoe sell it like it's goin' out of style
    You can't see me Marcus so have a
    Motherfuckin' Sweet and smile

    This song was submitted on April 20th, 2006 and last modified on June 23rd, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

    Songs you may also like

    • same album
    • same artist
    • popular on LSI
    • new on LSI


    leaderboard activity


    Facebook (0) LetsSingIt (0)