Letra de ' Oxnard Water Torture (feat. Oh No) ' de The Alchemist

Yeah
Ain't nothin' nice
Nah
Mean
Nah'mean?
Nah'mean?
Yeah
No

It's not the same drip, this is water torture
Feel the angles, clips are loaded
Unreelin' chambers, unveilin' anger, the sickest COVID
This ain't your Moët, this Olde English
Nigga, the gang's back
You get your brain cracked like it was blown speakers
You know the eyes crazy, I seal it like the jobs Navy
You get a sense of that, fresh shit all on your side lately
Doggin' the homes to the point like the top of the nose
Lodgin' the bones, I couldn't see any other option as 'No'

Watch your foot, you better step nice
You get sliced, I take a can and spray the letter after F twice
The whole left side of my body is digital
I'm an Android, you never see me at a party, I'm invisible (Anybody recognize this guy?)
My villain origin story starred in a physical
Long scope for me to not hit the target is difficult
Pardon me if I swerve in your lane
The juice is oozin' out the needle, you can inject this dirt in your veins (Yeah)
Aim squirly, leave your shirt out in stains

Robbin the bank and that was to get the bread
Sharpenin' the guillotine, that's so I can get ahead
I took the torturers, shook your fortress
The book of Shaq warn us with
The way I'm hangin' the hooks, it's no choruses
The Hannibal Lecter, I'm cheffin' for supper time
And for the greens, I butterfly the steak, you see the stuff inside
You done well but I'm the rarest breed, the Ox' cut 'em fairly deep
You couldn't outrun through trees when I'm bearin' speed

Stirrin' the pot, I give the wrist a go (Give it a go)
Duck when the pistols blow, don't get stuck under the mistletoe
I'm foul, you might as well just let a whistle blow
Produce, not artificial grown, dig in the beat and call for bristle bones
Modern thinker, chop like a water sprinkler
Motorcycle Co., Henry Wrinkler, bangin' the left without a blinker
I only order raw steaks
Recline Recaro seats in the Jetta, went to rock for Forsgate

I got them slappers with the boards
Nigga, the wheel grind against the grill, that's rampin' for the score
The hot furnace spin them 1080 to the floor
Carry a torch like '84, dangle his body from a balcony on the eighty floor
Till they double up the budget and pay me more
Sang like a T-Pain chorus who blamed it on a crazy horse
You need a game of luck to survive the trouble the gutter bring
It's double G, Allen, no cutlery, I'll gut you clean