Letra da Música Murder Man de Pastor Troy

(Pastor Troy)
ooh, ooh, ooh
yeah, this for da clones in the Atl
With them fake a** chains
For all the flexy a** ni**az comin' outta Atlanta

I'm comin, 2 50 cal's in hand
long goatee's ni**a da taliban
I'll murda man, I'm tryin to murk somethin
this aint no chuck e cheese
I'm tryin to hurt somethin'
These ni**az claimin G's
claimin' they run the south, please
How you run this sh** in them butt fu** caprice
Atleast you outta know bout' my thrown
the P the T the R the O the Y
ni**a I'm so fly call me jet
jump off in the ocean still aint wet
I flex I mothafu**in ball betta ax em
catch a ni**a talkin sh**
motherfu**in blast em
Murda, M - U - R - D - A
I'm pumpin gats at whoever in the way
I got the gunplay, don't think they understand
don't think they wanna fu** with the Murda Man

Chorus
I don't think they wanna fu** with the murda man
fu** with the murda man
fu** with the murda man
(well ah haa) (x 4)

Verse 2
yaa'll trippin'
not everybody crunk
yall' ni**az gonna make me pop tha trunk
cause I remember way back in the day
when the Atl was'nt gettin no play
then I came out, drop, we ready
ni**az went to bouncin'
ridin' dem box chevys
But I guess that was then
This is now... when I catch ya a** in the street
the guns plow
I represent the heart
I represent the Anger
I represent the real
I represent the danger
I represent the cars
I represent the dream
I represent repect
I'm representin my team
it's Pistol Pt, aka the Murda Man
Ya pistol's in ya car
My pistol's in my hand
and you can ask Jan
I shot a ni**a ran
don't think you understand
I'm the fu**in' Murda Man (haa)
Chours (x 4)

Verse 3
Stiill spinnin'
empty my magazine
I jump off in my limozine, and fleet the scene
This aint the swat team
this aint' lil scrappy and them
I love that hard sh**
and fu** a platinum
and lil jon', used to be my homie, used to be my ace
now I wanna slap tha taste, out yo mouth
ni**a down south I'm a legend
when u see me, keep mothafu**in' steppin
they flexin... so what u got a A (Atl) Hat ni**a?
that don't mean sh**
to a southside killa
What's up Shay, what's up toadd
On that air, shady park
Murda, M - U - R - D - A
I'm bustin' shots at whoever in my way
cockin' my a. k
don't think they understand
But I don't think they wanna fu** with the Murda Man
(haa)
Chorus (x 4)
(well ah haa)