In the chaotic world of City Morgue, ZillaKami and SosMula, there's no room for small talk - only hard-hitting action. "HURTWORLD '99" is a raw, unfiltered glimpse into this gritty universe where conflict is inevitable and power rules supreme. The lyrics are an aggressive warning to those who dare cross their path: talk trash and expect swift retaliation. It's survival of the fittest in this dog-eat-dog landscape, with references to Dobermans and pits symbolizing their fierce tenacity. Their world is one fueled by adrenaline and danger, where even a simple car ride could explode into violence at any moment. So tread lightly or risk getting H-U-R-T!
HURTWORLD '99
Lyrics
(WNDWS)
(Yung Germ)
Talk shit, get hit
One for the Dobermans and two for the pits (hurt, hurt)
Talk shit, get hit
One just to bury ya, and two if we miss (hurt, hurt)
You get H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (yeah)
We don't talk because I do not like you (okay)
Quite frankly, I think I do wanna fight you (wassup?)
In your stomach, I wonder what a knife do? (Okay)
Get insane, fuck around and I might just bite you (ahaha)
What's your name, buddy? Nobody knows (okay)
If I see you here again, you better stay on your toes (hurt)
Watch your weight, you're too easy to throw (huh?)
Put you in a clinch and catch a knee to your nose (okay)
You get hit (hit), I leave you faceless
I pull the clutch in, and then I stick-shift
I'm throwin' question mark kicks, elbows and Narcis
Put him in a guillotine like, "Oh no, he got me" (hurt)
Talk shit, get hit
One for the Dobermans and two for the pits (hurt, hurt)
Talk shit, get hit
One just to bury ya, and two if we miss (hurt, hurt)
You get H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (sleezy)
H-U-R-T, shoot out my RV (boom boom)
Press a button on the 'Rari, I don't do car keys (skrrt, skrrt, skrrt)
I just sell them hard ki's (work), fuckin' on Barbies (slide)
I don't drink Bacardi (no-no), I shoot up ya party (boom boom)
Need the mop sticks (boom), got them Glock sticks (boom)
Got two sticks on me, it ain't chopsticks (doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo)
Got the Rottweilers (sleezy), got the barbwire (fuck outta here)
Got the carbon fiber (boom), take my gun, it's time to mosh ya (boom boom)
Talk shit, get hit
One for the Dobermans and two for the pits (hurt, hurt)
Talk shit, get hit
One just to bury ya, and two if we miss (hurt, hurt)
You get H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
H-U-R-T, H-U-R-T (hurt)
Writer(s): Junius Rogers, Vinicius Sosa, Aarre Leinonen, Jeremy Schafer
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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