Sematary – ANGELMAKERS Lyrics

ANGELMAKERS Lyrics – Sematary

They like, “Grave Man, why you always so damn mean?”
I’m a Hauntaholic, bitch, what you want from me? (H-H-H-Hauntaholics)
Jump out the whip, go hard, what the fuck you mean?
I’m a vessel for the burning hate inside of me
Black—
Hauntaholics, laughing all the way to hell
Yeah
Go, go
Got Turn with me, yeah, yeah
Gonerville

Big iron on my hip, I’ll see you in the whip, I’ll make you a angel
On my left and my right and my side, some motherfuckin’ angel maker
Smokin’ on cancer, smokin’ on your ashes, gettin’ fucked up in the graveyard
I don’t wanna live forever so try me, boy, probably meet your maker
Big iron on my hip, I’ll see you in the whip, I’ll make you a angel
On my left and my right and my side, some motherfuckin’ angel maker
Smokin’ on cancer, smokin’ on your ashes, gettin’ fucked up in the graveyard
I don’t wanna live forever so try me, boy, probably meet your maker (Try me boy)

They like, “Grave Man, why you always so damn mean?”
I’m a Hauntaholic, bitch, what you want from me? (H-H-H-Hauntaholics)
Talm’ ’bout we don’t go hard, what the fuck you mean?
I’m a vessel for the burning hate inside of me
Black angels of the night, high off all the drugs (H-H-H-Hauntaholics)
Pop your ass like Elmer Fudd, laugh like Donald Duck (Haha)
Eating Oxy like a grandma with a busted lung
Me and Turn some angel makers, blow you to kingdom come

(Turnabout)
They makin me clean my cutter, it’s too many lives, it’s too many runnin’
Grave Man pass me the necronomicon and told me that it’s time to punch in
Crawling out the cracks of your walls, boy, while you’re sleeping, you gon’ hear something
Angelmaker made for making souls and gutting and gutting and gutting
Loading up the angelmaker with hollow tips dipped in that ricin
If the bullets don’t do they job right, the poison leave you lifeless
He shorted my bread, so I shorted his life, why should I settle for less?
Chest tat say till death, I’m finna paint yo house red
I summoned steak up on my plate like I was at Peter Luger
I put a hundred rounds of nine mil lugers inside my Ruger
I take his body parts, I chop ’em up, stash ’em in the cooler
I’m rockin’ gen 1 Alabaster, I said fuck bout a Frank Muller
Angelmaker in my holster, [?] make your brain splat
Bad bitch at my crib, one-ten degrees, I’m rockin’ that all night
Smokin’, burnin’ the cigarettes, smoke dust all up in my pack
Scratch the number off my angelmaker, got a shell catcher, now you in the past

Big iron on my hip, I’ll see you in the whip, I’ll make you a angel
On my left and my right and my side, some motherfuckin’ angel maker
Smokin’ on cancer, smokin’ on your ashes, gettin’ fucked up in the graveyard
I don’t wanna live forever so try me, boy, probably meet your maker
Big iron on my hip, I’ll see you in the whip, I’ll make you a angel
On my left and my right and my side, some motherfuckin’ angel maker
Smokin’ on cancer, smokin’ on your ashes, gettin’ fucked up in the graveyard
I don’t wanna live forever so try me, boy, probably meet your maker (Try me boy)

Go, go
Yeah, yeah
Turn up
H-H-H-Hauntaholics
Real Haunted Mound

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