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Ill $ilva - Another Cold Day in Hell Lyrics
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Ill $ilva - Another Cold Day in Hell

 
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From a, southern state where they used to red candy paint
Taking cane to the brain and often slithered on drank
But is it insane? That I’m twisted distant from fame
You insist that I came? Ignorance glisten to flames Jane
Dope must be in hell, catching hell like NFL
I tried to see eye to eye but I see I failed
Paper trails, got niggas singing like damn Adele
Lean cup run it over like the holy grail
Slowly sail, up the stream, on a percocet
Without a sail, or a stream, I could make a bag
Easy task thinking all green like Peter Pan
And if the feds watching I’m gonna be fresher than Dapper Dan
Clap your hands if you ever went to go whack a man
I’m gonna turn into a gospel choir band, amen
Still I stand, still, who the man? I’m the man
Whole team gon’ ride like we Ubering, like…

Impossible fork, sorcerer
Peel red gauze off a corpses heart
Doctor Holmes surgical tongs
Sterilised guns pick flesh apart
Incubus host diabolical ohms
Hell brim fire, slave control
Six feet below memorial stone
Like Drury Lane overrun with ghosts
Inject ash, veins corrode
Phone lines drop, blood dissolve
Nightshade mandrake enter my soul
Cold as Bohemian Grove
Overdose, passing Oz
Hit me a lick under ritual bones
Outside home decompose
Drawn into hell by the piercing cold
Bitch we hard body so stay on the steel of your boots
We still told us running them down chasing frivolous fruits
The reality, most can’t make a meal in the suit
So they jump off the Porsche because you can’t chase a meal on the stoop
Blood lands through my hands like the sands of the hourglass
Life fading, death awaits, time has passed
I can’t recount the past bitch I’m recounting cash
While different the sour stash to gripping the sandwich bag
Hit your block walk up to your door no time to pick the lock
Get the drop, kick it down round back the picket stop
I run out the packet through the grass like I’m mowing lawns
On the notepad will be the only time your guns are drawn
Alpha funds, but sometimes I duffle funds
Get too loose with the tongue but there ain’t no one on ones?
Bitch I’m coming armed, gun bark equipped the muzzle
Go from dogs to bitches when they touch you

Bedlam door ouija board
Woke up alive in a mental ward
Weaved into fog my thoughts deplore
Locate the tomb of an anti god
Conscience gone like Cherrie Mahan
Lean cup stutter, double up
Sacrifice souls to the lord below
The year 1822 underneath the mud
Won’t survive, butcher knives
Blood filled cracks, homicide
Infiltrate death like a parasite
Innocence drowned by horror sites
Paralysed, sent to die
Deep underground where bones reside
Eyes roll back, bending time
Fading to black, at my demise

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