The Lost Art Of Killing by King Fantastic Lyrics
[Verse 1: Killer Reese One]
Say buddy you in my lane
You backing up the game, you lame, you want fame
I can give it to you daddy
I ain't took my meds for weeks and I am feeling fucking batty
So if I put the tip of this fifth to your dick-sucking lips
And I give you the whole clip
Then we both get what we want
You get on the front page and I get one less chump
I encourage all frogs to jump
I heard they taste like chicken, and my bitch's in the kitchen
With a pot of hot grease, and a couple side dishes
Go figure no meat
Slice this nigga up so we can eat
Killer Reese is on the raps, Troublemaker's on the beat
You dudes be talking so street
And that talk be sounding tough until you gotta talk to me
The authentic is off limits
You don't talk to the truth if you talking about gimmicks
I am the game, I'm not in it
That means fifteen years not fifteen minutes, nigga
[Hook]
Let's cheer for the bad guy
Clap when he get away, live to kill another day
Here's a toast to the cutthroats
Niggas who ain’t on a list that don’t mind gun smoke
To my life-time criminals, remind 'em what fear is, we tired of that weird shit
And if you feeling how I'm feeling put your drinks in the air for the lost art of killin'
[Verse 2: Killer Reese One]
They call me Reese de Uno, the sumo
Used to push D, like Kool Moe
You know I'm the realest nigga to do this
Got a crew of real spitters that'll murder this new shit
I encourage LA to stay away
From the techno pop of the day, that shit is gay
The good ol' years I talk about
Is when the loud mouth niggas still got stomped out
Now everybody so passive-aggressive
You get locked up for teaching niggas a lesson
But there's only so much testin'
I can take before I break and I expose my weapon
I'm out here LA reppin'
Last of the heathens, dark heart still beatin'
I'm on the west side, geekin'
This is the turf that I stick my cleats in
[Hook]
Let's cheer for the bad guy
Clap when he get away, live to kill another day
Here's a toast to the cutthroats
Niggas who ain’t on a list that don’t mind gun smoke
To my life-time criminals, remind 'em what fear is, we tired of that weird shit
And if you feeling how I'm feeling put your drinks in the air for the lost art of killin'
Say buddy you in my lane
You backing up the game, you lame, you want fame
I can give it to you daddy
I ain't took my meds for weeks and I am feeling fucking batty
So if I put the tip of this fifth to your dick-sucking lips
And I give you the whole clip
Then we both get what we want
You get on the front page and I get one less chump
I encourage all frogs to jump
I heard they taste like chicken, and my bitch's in the kitchen
With a pot of hot grease, and a couple side dishes
Go figure no meat
Slice this nigga up so we can eat
Killer Reese is on the raps, Troublemaker's on the beat
You dudes be talking so street
And that talk be sounding tough until you gotta talk to me
The authentic is off limits
You don't talk to the truth if you talking about gimmicks
I am the game, I'm not in it
That means fifteen years not fifteen minutes, nigga
[Hook]
Let's cheer for the bad guy
Clap when he get away, live to kill another day
Here's a toast to the cutthroats
Niggas who ain’t on a list that don’t mind gun smoke
To my life-time criminals, remind 'em what fear is, we tired of that weird shit
And if you feeling how I'm feeling put your drinks in the air for the lost art of killin'
[Verse 2: Killer Reese One]
They call me Reese de Uno, the sumo
Used to push D, like Kool Moe
You know I'm the realest nigga to do this
Got a crew of real spitters that'll murder this new shit
I encourage LA to stay away
From the techno pop of the day, that shit is gay
The good ol' years I talk about
Is when the loud mouth niggas still got stomped out
Now everybody so passive-aggressive
You get locked up for teaching niggas a lesson
But there's only so much testin'
I can take before I break and I expose my weapon
I'm out here LA reppin'
Last of the heathens, dark heart still beatin'
I'm on the west side, geekin'
This is the turf that I stick my cleats in
[Hook]
Let's cheer for the bad guy
Clap when he get away, live to kill another day
Here's a toast to the cutthroats
Niggas who ain’t on a list that don’t mind gun smoke
To my life-time criminals, remind 'em what fear is, we tired of that weird shit
And if you feeling how I'm feeling put your drinks in the air for the lost art of killin'