Killer Mike Butane Lyrics

[Verse 1: Killer Mike]

Looking for the truth, yeah it’s me

Everything Polo to the floor though, even at the grocery store though

Picture perfect, take a photo

And take the pic you biting bitch and go and stitch a logo (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)

Hit you with the quatro, but my girl Mercedes

With the Audi say that Quatro was a two door so a typo

You can put on Killer Kill, Fat Boy, or just Michael

Call me what you want but still never call me rival

They will call you dead and I will call you gone

The loss with jesus we be will be we’ll be calling you ass home

An underground rap ,what I’m meant to be

Then I will be the shit and you ain’t shit to me


We won, we the winners with the champagne

Champagne at the end of our campaign

Spit fire, naked truth like the blue flame, like the blue flame

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Let me see your hands up if you

Caught the plug and we bolt like Usain

More money, more power, more butane

Burn the motherfucker down, down

[Verse: Killer Mike]

Life’s a bitch so I mack on her immaculate

I don’t wear no monkey watches

Rolex is too accurate

My rhymes are actually accurate

Meaning I don’t fiction in my diction to the masses

Perfection is performed through many practices

I prostitute the mattresses

This shit just come naturally

Easy as Osama’s bombers takin many casualties

Like Columbine I’m down for mine I’m here to kill the faculty

Killin them or killin me

This is my soliloquy

Iller than the illest beat

I will spit the illest shit from right here to infinity

Till I reach the dirt

I will search the earth endlessly looking for the Hennessy?

Ain’t nobody lyrically as ill as me, that’s Eazy-E

Come back from A.I.D…S yes

Get a beat from E-L-P, ghostwritten for my partner T.I.P

Cube and me Every time, travel back to 95, jumping in a 63 Impala, playing Cuban Linx


[Verse 3: EL-P]

Yo, I’m a Grinch with a grin, I will shit on your kids

Get a light, get a grip, get a hold on my dick, bitch

Make a wish

I’m a knife, I’m nothing thats nicer then getting sliced up

The switch, the machete, the fatty Yeti, the shite

Getting closer to Christ yah

Might just find your design of your life an angel head short of divine love

I stink, I just stunk up a trunk to sell bricks

I’m a Sphinx, so much that my nose just broke off… think

I’m alone again clutching a loaded Glock soaked in chromium

Hoping that the thought police just don’t bust in my home again

Life is tough, you get snuffed in [?]

What the fuck, this is not what my mother said I’ll become

Star-spangled wranglers got my hopes on the run

Getting closer now

Maybe our society supposed to drown

Middle finger up on the Titanic as it’s going down