The Transplants
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1,2,3,4,5,6,7

The Transplants


[chorus:]
1,2,3,4,5,6,7
no one here's gonna get to go to heaven
no one here's gonna get to go to heaven
no one here's gonna get to go to heaven

the first one to speak, be the first one to leave,
get your loved ones gagged and bound in bed sheets.
six deep, full heap, best be quick on the draw,
you's a snitch, you's a bitch, you get left where you are.
i roll with killa's who got strikes, dealers who catch cases,
Skinheads and Mohicans, tattoos on their faces.
bring it 'til your dead, bass it, get to bumpin' your gun,
all these cowards talk shit, all these cowards gonna run.
i'm not one, not my cards, not the hand i was dealt,
it all goes down, you only go for yourself.
not me, i can't call it, i'd die for the team,
smoking sacks in the shack, getting high with the team.
let it fly with the beam, infra-red on your head,
every last muthafucka wanna leave me for dead.
can't be happy that i'm livin', you pray that i fall,
BUT I'M A DEAD MAN WALKING, I AIN'T LIVIN' AT ALL!

[chorus]

all the time that you hate, it's time that you waste,
wake up soakin' wet with a 9 to your face.
in any case, hit the brakes, you're doing too much,
my heart's blacker than the grip in the Grip that i clutch.
who wants what? it goes down, right here in your town,
i swear to god i'm not laughing, with a permanent frown.
don't make a sound, i spit rounds, leave your dick in the dirt,
shotgun, with the shotgun aimed at your heart.
it gets worse, i been cursed, smash your life like a verse,
we blast, ski mask, when we touchin' the turf.
nobody came to talk, ain't nobody playin' games,
kickin' everybody's ass, cross out everybody's name.
fucken lame that's how it goes, fuck wax and fuck shows,
fuck the track, fuck the mic', fuck hoes and fuck foes!
do yourself a favor and keep your thoughts to yourself,
i'm sellin' drugs to my label and my neighbors for wealth, without help.

[chorus]

not taking shit from anybody, leavin' spouses in tears,
you'll get mangled if we tangle, i'll be poundin' the beer.
3 cheers, who got next? let's go, you get stomped,
anytime, any place, any weapon that you want.
hold your tongue son, you slip, you get fucked,
at your show in the parking lot fightin', won't take long.
leave your whole gash flappin', know why it has happened,
i love to watch you fall like Freeman loves watchin' Patton.
what the fuck? i rather die then live to please you,
keepin' company with thugs and drugs and heat too.
speed bump, head slice, we ain't travelin' light,
as i hit the dipstick bring a tear to my eye.
i stay high, do or die, finding peace with myself,
you live a lie, run and hide, die with everyone else.
fuck the world, kill 'em all, and this you can trust,
cause muthafuckas hit the dirt when muthafuckas hit the dust.

[chorus]

Compositores: Timothy Armstrong (Tim Armstrong), Travis L Barker, Rob Aston
ECAD: Obra #6015106

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