(feat. Brotha Lynch Hung, Mr. Doctor)



[Talking]

The year is 1994

Black Market Records, 2001 Records, and Doomsday Productions

Combined forces to create an unfadable click

Make way for the hounds of the underground

Feel the fury, hahhaahaha



[PIT]

I put my hands in my pockets

They jiggle cus they fulla change,

Sometimes bein broke'll make ya fall astray

But I got a better grip on myself

So I avoid gettin played short like a elf

Bust her side bust her in the head

That white ? yoke come runnin out his neck

I'm tryin to stack a grip so dont let me hit this dank

Cus if I hit this dank, I'ma shoot me a bitch

Fuck it, *puff*, bang bang,

Five minutes later, the cops came

I'm settin up shop for the black market

So if I aim at your mark-ass youre a target

Told you that I'd come but I came insane

Born braincell killas, scramblin niggas brains

If you gotta go you gotta go I like the six-fo

I'm pullin GTA's, it aint yo's no mo'

Then I take it and strip it down and leave nothin but the frame

Then I'm gonna sell my cousin the gold thangs

Pop a burn and turn it over like a flapjack

Mo money mo money for black market



[Chorus x4]

On the black market, yeeeaah



[Eklypss]

Creepin move with swiftness in the dark

And aint no stoppin, once a nigga start

It aint nothin new, up under the sun for days and days

Under the moon, is where I was born and raised

And doomed for life, nigga this aint no daylight

I love it, murderin muthafuckas in the night

A Doomsta ready to make his mark an underground target

Hooked up with black market now peep

Shit gets deeper and deeper, meet me

The doomstown grim reaper, and PIT

Platinum, Mister Doctor Lynch Hung

We do your ass in good just for fun

Fifteen inches in your ass bitch

Take it and love it, but I aint talking bout no dick

14 suns and moons, somethin you can assume

That on the 15th marks my day for doom

Buck em and fuck em with doomsday productions

Eklypss'll trip if I catch you fuckin with my grip

Youll find your ass dead in a graveyard

And I'ma continue on my ?



[Brotha Lynch Hung]

Well if you see me chewin baby guts locc, would ya choke

or vomit when that teflon pierce that baby's throat?

Peep me eatin dead cott

Ya trip cause eatin dead pussy clit, I'll make ya sick

But its that season so my reason is legit

I'm havin fits, I've dreamed of eatin bloody pussy clit since I was 6

I fiend for dead pussy on my dick, I got the schitz

Meanin I dont give a shit about yo biatch

That nigga that's from the block killin off that cott

So nigga, sheeeit; baby barbeque ribs and guts, and uh

Don't let me get to deep fryin baby nuts

Sluts, get ate out like a ? them crooked teeth hurt

I pull that tampax string out and straight put in work

It wouldnt work without the sick

So page a nigga quick so I can serve you some of that shit

And have you murderin your biatch, violently

I've been keyed for 20 minutes and feel like killin

Loadin that milli-milli its that infant killa

Nigga Lynch, Mr. Doc, D-O double M and hella heat

Niggas unload, I need another dose of human meat

I live to creep, and black market death by the scene

As that nigga that nigga that nine millimeter punch you in yo spleen



[Chorus x4]



[Mr. Doctor]

You lay yo eyes up on my 4-4

And notice every curve in my strap

As them tears roll down

Flash yo life as ya fade to black

If that gat wasnt all up in yo face

Reminisce of yo folks, yo bitch, yo kids, yo fate

Replace, take it down to the soul, get deep

Think of moms at your funeral locc, and all ya family

Huh, its kind of crazy you could lose all of these things so quick

And whats worse, nigga shot you for the fuck of it, yeah

Never know I'd be the one to have your life in my hand

[Brotha Lynch: That Ruger 4-4 Mac]

That niggas life wont last

Keep listenin while I guide right down into your throat

Dig that barrel in your neck, watch your bitch-ass choke

No hope, no joke, Im savin you the pain of old age

All I ask for is yo muthafuckin grip in exchange

One to the brain, in the throat out the skull

From the big chrome gat, peeled cap, release your soul

Now ya niggas know, one mo dead muthafucka on the street

Fo the Mista Doc, locc

Straight to the brain with St. Ides brew

The black market dealt murder when they serve them foo's



[Chorus x4]