Now I came doing my thing in the underground I wear all black I'm sort of like a vampire now I don't eat or sleep and I don't like light I just hunt wall
off Duck while the body rot, nigga still on the plot But next time, I use my mothafuckin Glock (chorus) To the old school nigga where I'm known the most Hunter
damn superstitious I sleep the thirteenth away I don't screw the wives of friends I don't piss in the wind, no way I'm so damn superstitious I don't hunt for Charles
yourselves Nothing the matter Just trying to get across Why don't I go home? I'll put a record on Like a Ray Charles song What have I told you? Nobody
rape any ethnic culture they can plug a mike to. The imperialists rub their hands in glee As the slave-boy hunts out butt-ends in the garbage cans. Is
indict Charles, the first for tyranny, ooh! Charles was sentenced to death Even though he refused to accept that the court had jurisdiction Say goodbye to his head Poor King Charles
of all I'm a grown-ass man, pay my own bills Stated own real, haters gon' feel direct syndrome Mouth with cold tongue, you bounty hunters be on the chase
we brings to the world like a flood I leap like a tigger and I land with a thud Collasal, causin' earthquakes and the earth shakes constant Kicks more ass than Charles
pussies with blisters we burn 'em in rivers Saviors of pimps and concubines Have you ever asked yourself will you fuck Marilyn Manson Or become Charlie Manson death wish Or become Charles
WHY DON'T WE DO THIS MORE OFTEN (Allie Wrubel - Charles Newman) « © '58 Francis Day & Hunter Music » Why don't we do this more often just
(Ray Charles) One of these days, and it won't be long You're gonna look for me and I'll be gone Because I believe I said I believe right now Well I believed
set sail to rape any ethnic culture they can plug a mike to. The imperialists rub their hands in glee As the slave-boy hunts out butt-ends in the garbage
la cortina what am i gonna do ? oh tell me mama cuz i cut her into pieces like my name is Jeffrey dahmer and now they wanna hunt me down butah in
thoughts Young'ns out like I-95's, they only cost Caught up in the fame comes along with the street game Don't forget about them head hunters, head hunting
in the sink and wash they hands in the toilet [Stacee Adams:] Man it's the pinnacle Five star general, slash criminal With guns on the hunt for the cash
of all I'm a grown-ass man, pay my own bills Stated own real, haters gon' feel Direct Syndrome, mouth with cold tongue You bounty hunters be on the chase
