Kill It Lyrics By R.A. the Rugged Man

Artist/Band Name: R.A. the Rugged Man

Album Name: American Low Life


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Lyrics To Kill It

feat. Agallah, Channel Live & Craig G
Produced By: The Alchemist

[Hook: Agallah]
Let me know if you feel it, feel it, feel it
D&D, let us kill it, kill it, kill it
Craig G, we coming with it, with it, with it
Agallah, Rugged Man, Channel Live we ’bout to spend it
Let me know if you feel it, feel it, feel it
D&D, let us kill it, kill it, kill it
Agallah, I’m coming with it, with it, with it
Craig G, Channel Live and Rugged Man are ’bout to kill it

[Verse 1: Hakim Green]
You know the live niggas roll them trees up, Alchemist put the beat up
We D&D up, R.A., Adolf and Craig G, yup
We hit the block up, catch me rolling chalk up
Watching Sopranos late night with a bitch legs cocked up
My flow is like snow cooked up
Bust like mo’ shook up
Screaming 5-0, down, crooks up
You lying, don, don’t look up
When hungry dirty down niggas hook up
Get your ice took up

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[Verse 2: Tuffy]
Cause you wanna ice down you could end up sliced down
When I slug up in your see-through ass like nightgowns
Just pipe down, bring all the hype down
Fight now, niggas pick up the knife, put the mic down
Oh, we in the ninth round, high off Mike’s pound
I lay them lies down like you roll the dice down now
Two pulls and pass, oh, that bomb hash
I’m tired of niggas wants more ass than Stacey Dash

[Verse 3: R.A. The Rugged Man]
I’m a hand grenade holding, Chinese star tossing
Screamin’ Jay Hawkins in the Walkman
Bomb threats to the airports
I’m a twisted fuck with sick thoughts
On your block with a blowtorch
I’m straight country, rednecks stay away from me
Jack Dempsey, G Tony, I don’t need money, I’mma be bummy
I’mma be crusty and ugly, King Kong Bundy
We are Channel Live, Craig G, D&D all-star
R.A. The Rugged Man and Agallah

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[Verse 4: Craig G]
This beat’s a bar stool over the bats, smack
Only 10 seconds elapse before your vertebrae snaps
Ayo, I heard ’em say raps, but them shits were half-assed
Totalize, we catching rhymes belonging glad trash bags
Gang members flash racks, carjackers stack jacks
In a warehouse 5 miles northwest from Six Flags
The pigeon style’s fake like [?]
Telling tales about you shipping the yayo
Bullets fly from a window [?]
Making you and your clique lay low
One shot, I’m Michael Corleone, nigga, you Fredo

[Verse 5: Agallah]
It’d be a cold day in jail before you fuck with Agallah
Fuck rap, yo, would blow the gats for y’all
I’m the tact that’ll take the weight off your backs
My shit’ll make them real niggas insert them clips in the macs
Y’all can spit ’til ya lips is black, your shit is wack
All them gangsters [?] shots when I chill on the track
And it’s real hard for most cats to get on the chart
What I think about you rappers, I won’t get to that part
And bullets get to the heart, niggas rip you apart
I’m already at the finish before you get to the start
Ain’t nothing like Ag and the chemist, D&D presented
Roll that blunt again, nigga, ain’t enough weed in it
In the street where them niggas will cheat lyrics
Fake gangsters with weak feelings
Enter the first round, we came with it

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Billy K. Hicks

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