Piss On Your Grave 歌词
| 歌曲 | Piss On Your Grave |
| 歌手 | The Coup |
| 专辑 | Steal This Double Album |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Riley | |
| (chorus) | |
| Uhhhh!! | |
| I wanna piss on your grave! | |
| Make me feel alright! | |
| Yaa yaa yaa!! | |
| (repeat) | |
| While you was eatin' | |
| T-bone steaks | |
| In palatial estates, | |
| Ornate with gates that automate | |
| So those you hate could only spectate, | |
| I was kissing my mate | |
| Through iron grates | |
| While the guards wait, | |
| 50 cent rate for making license plates. | |
| My papermate pen shakes | |
| Vibrates from 808 quakes | |
| Over breaks | |
| Dug outta crates | |
| That sag from weight | |
| Of the vinyl plates... | |
| Girls work till they back ache | |
| And their breasts con't lactate | |
| You're laughin' to the bank | |
| Smilin', showin' all your plaque flakes | |
| Contesting, contesting 1,2,3 | |
| Never shoulda been put in the penitentiary | |
| Boots from the coup would like to say | |
| I'll shove these foodstamps down your throat | |
| Just to block your airway | |
| And that's the fair way 'cuz everyday | |
| You're on a moola mission | |
| Military killin' millions 'til you low on ammunition | |
| Bodies beyond recognition | |
| Twisted complex positions | |
| Then their kids work in your factories | |
| And die of malnutrition | |
| See your net profit stats | |
| Hold some murderous facts | |
| But if you listen to the news you mighta | |
| Heard it was blacks | |
| You got us herded in shacks | |
| I got the pertinent tax | |
| How 'bout the one for when i bust my ass | |
| And you relax | |
| I'll hit your head wit an axe | |
| Play soccer wit' your brain | |
| To make it official | |
| Slice your jugular vein | |
| Still writin' songs that my momma could sang | |
| And if you feel some yellow drips on your skull | |
| It ain't rain. | |
| (chorus) | |
| That bitch ass on the front of a buck | |
| Never gave a **** | |
| He forced his black women slaves | |
| To give him dick sucks | |
| And when he bust a nut | |
| He'd laugh and cackle | |
| Let the leather whip crackle | |
| Send 'em back to pick tobacco | |
| Shackled | |
| Wouldn't give 'em nil | |
| So his homies stacked bills | |
| Fought on flatland and hill | |
| To keep the british out the till, scrill | |
| Kept washington dumpin' 'em in ditches | |
| So slave owning son of a bitches | |
| Could keep their riches | |
| Which is how the war got funded | |
| With two centuries of juice | |
| From black slaves bodies | |
| And the profits they produced | |
| You could deduce | |
| That these men might win | |
| Fit right in | |
| And make rights then | |
| Just for rich white men | |
| So they quit fightin' | |
| And wrote up a declaration | |
| Protective decoration | |
| For their business operations | |
| A gorilla pimpin' nation, no freedom - just savage | |
| Now the whole world's ravaged | |
| From their hunger for the cabbage | |
| Your fifth period history teacher | |
| Tellin' lies like a tweeker | |
| Bump this song through the speaker | |
| Watch they face get weaker | |
| 'less they righteous and they kickin' the facts | |
| They gon' smile cuz this shit is on wax | |
| One thing i gots to ask | |
| George washington down in hell can you see me? | |
| I'm standin' on your grave | |
| And i'm finsta take a pee-pee! | |
| Tour guide: excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee? | |
| Boots: nah, i said i love it here in d.c. | |
| Tour guide: well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour. | |
| We're here at the arlington national cemetary. | |
| Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the afro is standing, | |
| Is the grave of of america's first and greatest hero, our first president -- | |
| Pants unzipping | |
| George washington | |
| Piss hitting the ground | |
| Ohh, uh-uhhhh. | |
| Cameras click | |
| (chorus) | |
| Knock knock mutha****a, yes once again | |
| I'll make you pay for your sins | |
| In the trunk o' your benz | |
| See youse an always fitted | |
| Always acquitted | |
| Parasitic leech | |
| Cain't be burned off my back | |
| Wit' no fiery speech | |
| Your hands is soft as a peach | |
| Cuz you ain't never did work | |
| Been rich ever since | |
| Your daddy's dick went squirt | |
| Have you ever hurt from your back? | |
| Ducked from rat-a-tat-tats? | |
| Seen your mama on crack? | |
| Lived in a pontiac? | |
| Drank baby similac | |
| So you could have protein? | |
| (just for enough energy | |
| To hustle up some mo' green?) | |
| I could paint some mo' scenes | |
| Vergin' on the obscene | |
| But i'd rather show up at your palace | |
| With a mob scene | |
| I spoke to my accountant | |
| Who spoke to my attorney | |
| Who counseled my financial advisor | |
| On a gurney | |
| It's about fifty dollars | |
| And that's almost like a sale | |
| Cuz it costs too damn much | |
| To let your rich ass inhale | |
| True liberation ain't no word in the head | |
| I'm yellin' murder 'em dead | |
| For some fish, steak and bread | |
| You pay me 10 g's a year, | |
| I pay you fifteen million hun'ed??? | |
| Sorry, you just ain't in the budget... | |
| (chorus) |
| zuo ci : Riley | |
| chorus | |
| Uhhhh!! | |
| I wanna piss on your grave! | |
| Make me feel alright! | |
| Yaa yaa yaa!! | |
| repeat | |
| While you was eatin' | |
| Tbone steaks | |
| In palatial estates, | |
| Ornate with gates that automate | |
| So those you hate could only spectate, | |
| I was kissing my mate | |
| Through iron grates | |
| While the guards wait, | |
| 50 cent rate for making license plates. | |
| My papermate pen shakes | |
| Vibrates from 808 quakes | |
| Over breaks | |
| Dug outta crates | |
| That sag from weight | |
| Of the vinyl plates... | |
| Girls work till they back ache | |
| And their breasts con' t lactate | |
| You' re laughin' to the bank | |
| Smilin', showin' all your plaque flakes | |
| Contesting, contesting 1, 2, 3 | |
| Never shoulda been put in the penitentiary | |
| Boots from the coup would like to say | |
| I' ll shove these foodstamps down your throat | |
| Just to block your airway | |
| And that' s the fair way ' cuz everyday | |
| You' re on a moola mission | |
| Military killin' millions ' til you low on ammunition | |
| Bodies beyond recognition | |
| Twisted complex positions | |
| Then their kids work in your factories | |
| And die of malnutrition | |
| See your net profit stats | |
| Hold some murderous facts | |
| But if you listen to the news you mighta | |
| Heard it was blacks | |
| You got us herded in shacks | |
| I got the pertinent tax | |
| How ' bout the one for when i bust my ass | |
| And you relax | |
| I' ll hit your head wit an axe | |
| Play soccer wit' your brain | |
| To make it official | |
| Slice your jugular vein | |
| Still writin' songs that my momma could sang | |
| And if you feel some yellow drips on your skull | |
| It ain' t rain. | |
| chorus | |
| That bitch ass on the front of a buck | |
| Never gave a | |
| He forced his black women slaves | |
| To give him dick sucks | |
| And when he bust a nut | |
| He' d laugh and cackle | |
| Let the leather whip crackle | |
| Send ' em back to pick tobacco | |
| Shackled | |
| Wouldn' t give ' em nil | |
| So his homies stacked bills | |
| Fought on flatland and hill | |
| To keep the british out the till, scrill | |
| Kept washington dumpin' ' em in ditches | |
| So slave owning son of a bitches | |
| Could keep their riches | |
| Which is how the war got funded | |
| With two centuries of juice | |
| From black slaves bodies | |
| And the profits they produced | |
| You could deduce | |
| That these men might win | |
| Fit right in | |
| And make rights then | |
| Just for rich white men | |
| So they quit fightin' | |
| And wrote up a declaration | |
| Protective decoration | |
| For their business operations | |
| A gorilla pimpin' nation, no freedom just savage | |
| Now the whole world' s ravaged | |
| From their hunger for the cabbage | |
| Your fifth period history teacher | |
| Tellin' lies like a tweeker | |
| Bump this song through the speaker | |
| Watch they face get weaker | |
| ' less they righteous and they kickin' the facts | |
| They gon' smile cuz this shit is on wax | |
| One thing i gots to ask | |
| George washington down in hell can you see me? | |
| I' m standin' on your grave | |
| And i' m finsta take a peepee! | |
| Tour guide: excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee? | |
| Boots: nah, i said i love it here in d. c. | |
| Tour guide: well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour. | |
| We' re here at the arlington national cemetary. | |
| Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the afro is standing, | |
| Is the grave of of america' s first and greatest hero, our first president | |
| Pants unzipping | |
| George washington | |
| Piss hitting the ground | |
| Ohh, uhuhhhh. | |
| Cameras click | |
| chorus | |
| Knock knock mutha a, yes once again | |
| I' ll make you pay for your sins | |
| In the trunk o' your benz | |
| See youse an always fitted | |
| Always acquitted | |
| Parasitic leech | |
| Cain' t be burned off my back | |
| Wit' no fiery speech | |
| Your hands is soft as a peach | |
| Cuz you ain' t never did work | |
| Been rich ever since | |
| Your daddy' s dick went squirt | |
| Have you ever hurt from your back? | |
| Ducked from ratatattats? | |
| Seen your mama on crack? | |
| Lived in a pontiac? | |
| Drank baby similac | |
| So you could have protein? | |
| just for enough energy | |
| To hustle up some mo' green? | |
| I could paint some mo' scenes | |
| Vergin' on the obscene | |
| But i' d rather show up at your palace | |
| With a mob scene | |
| I spoke to my accountant | |
| Who spoke to my attorney | |
| Who counseled my financial advisor | |
| On a gurney | |
| It' s about fifty dollars | |
| And that' s almost like a sale | |
| Cuz it costs too damn much | |
| To let your rich ass inhale | |
| True liberation ain' t no word in the head | |
| I' m yellin' murder ' em dead | |
| For some fish, steak and bread | |
| You pay me 10 g' s a year, | |
| I pay you fifteen million hun' ed??? | |
| Sorry, you just ain' t in the budget... | |
| chorus |
| zuò cí : Riley | |
| chorus | |
| Uhhhh!! | |
| I wanna piss on your grave! | |
| Make me feel alright! | |
| Yaa yaa yaa!! | |
| repeat | |
| While you was eatin' | |
| Tbone steaks | |
| In palatial estates, | |
| Ornate with gates that automate | |
| So those you hate could only spectate, | |
| I was kissing my mate | |
| Through iron grates | |
| While the guards wait, | |
| 50 cent rate for making license plates. | |
| My papermate pen shakes | |
| Vibrates from 808 quakes | |
| Over breaks | |
| Dug outta crates | |
| That sag from weight | |
| Of the vinyl plates... | |
| Girls work till they back ache | |
| And their breasts con' t lactate | |
| You' re laughin' to the bank | |
| Smilin', showin' all your plaque flakes | |
| Contesting, contesting 1, 2, 3 | |
| Never shoulda been put in the penitentiary | |
| Boots from the coup would like to say | |
| I' ll shove these foodstamps down your throat | |
| Just to block your airway | |
| And that' s the fair way ' cuz everyday | |
| You' re on a moola mission | |
| Military killin' millions ' til you low on ammunition | |
| Bodies beyond recognition | |
| Twisted complex positions | |
| Then their kids work in your factories | |
| And die of malnutrition | |
| See your net profit stats | |
| Hold some murderous facts | |
| But if you listen to the news you mighta | |
| Heard it was blacks | |
| You got us herded in shacks | |
| I got the pertinent tax | |
| How ' bout the one for when i bust my ass | |
| And you relax | |
| I' ll hit your head wit an axe | |
| Play soccer wit' your brain | |
| To make it official | |
| Slice your jugular vein | |
| Still writin' songs that my momma could sang | |
| And if you feel some yellow drips on your skull | |
| It ain' t rain. | |
| chorus | |
| That bitch ass on the front of a buck | |
| Never gave a | |
| He forced his black women slaves | |
| To give him dick sucks | |
| And when he bust a nut | |
| He' d laugh and cackle | |
| Let the leather whip crackle | |
| Send ' em back to pick tobacco | |
| Shackled | |
| Wouldn' t give ' em nil | |
| So his homies stacked bills | |
| Fought on flatland and hill | |
| To keep the british out the till, scrill | |
| Kept washington dumpin' ' em in ditches | |
| So slave owning son of a bitches | |
| Could keep their riches | |
| Which is how the war got funded | |
| With two centuries of juice | |
| From black slaves bodies | |
| And the profits they produced | |
| You could deduce | |
| That these men might win | |
| Fit right in | |
| And make rights then | |
| Just for rich white men | |
| So they quit fightin' | |
| And wrote up a declaration | |
| Protective decoration | |
| For their business operations | |
| A gorilla pimpin' nation, no freedom just savage | |
| Now the whole world' s ravaged | |
| From their hunger for the cabbage | |
| Your fifth period history teacher | |
| Tellin' lies like a tweeker | |
| Bump this song through the speaker | |
| Watch they face get weaker | |
| ' less they righteous and they kickin' the facts | |
| They gon' smile cuz this shit is on wax | |
| One thing i gots to ask | |
| George washington down in hell can you see me? | |
| I' m standin' on your grave | |
| And i' m finsta take a peepee! | |
| Tour guide: excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee? | |
| Boots: nah, i said i love it here in d. c. | |
| Tour guide: well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour. | |
| We' re here at the arlington national cemetary. | |
| Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the afro is standing, | |
| Is the grave of of america' s first and greatest hero, our first president | |
| Pants unzipping | |
| George washington | |
| Piss hitting the ground | |
| Ohh, uhuhhhh. | |
| Cameras click | |
| chorus | |
| Knock knock mutha a, yes once again | |
| I' ll make you pay for your sins | |
| In the trunk o' your benz | |
| See youse an always fitted | |
| Always acquitted | |
| Parasitic leech | |
| Cain' t be burned off my back | |
| Wit' no fiery speech | |
| Your hands is soft as a peach | |
| Cuz you ain' t never did work | |
| Been rich ever since | |
| Your daddy' s dick went squirt | |
| Have you ever hurt from your back? | |
| Ducked from ratatattats? | |
| Seen your mama on crack? | |
| Lived in a pontiac? | |
| Drank baby similac | |
| So you could have protein? | |
| just for enough energy | |
| To hustle up some mo' green? | |
| I could paint some mo' scenes | |
| Vergin' on the obscene | |
| But i' d rather show up at your palace | |
| With a mob scene | |
| I spoke to my accountant | |
| Who spoke to my attorney | |
| Who counseled my financial advisor | |
| On a gurney | |
| It' s about fifty dollars | |
| And that' s almost like a sale | |
| Cuz it costs too damn much | |
| To let your rich ass inhale | |
| True liberation ain' t no word in the head | |
| I' m yellin' murder ' em dead | |
| For some fish, steak and bread | |
| You pay me 10 g' s a year, | |
| I pay you fifteen million hun' ed??? | |
| Sorry, you just ain' t in the budget... | |
| chorus |
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