Who Sang Where da Killaz Hang? Three 6 Mafia feat. Project Pat

Project Pat The End cover art
Release information
Release Date: 1997-3-4
Genre: Hip Hop
Style: Gangsta/Electro/Horrorcore
length: 5:20
performer: Project Pat

I represent, where them killers hang

[Verse 1: Lord Infamous]
The ganja I'm choking, the laws'll get broken
The pussies are open, the killers is scoping
The pistol is smoking, it's bloodily soaking
The Scarecrow, the sicker, the Snizote I'm locing
We up in the attic, my victim in panic
They try to get frantic, got blowed off the planet
They don't understand it, soldiers can't stand it
That's how I planned it, fuck you, goddamnit
My automatic, ready for static
Blastery tragic, have you in plastic
Way my mind be twisted, got me itching, gotta have it
Niggas want to approach Lord Infamous
But I am loco I will blow, your head off your shoulders

[Verse 2: Project Pat]
Mister murderer robbers, niggas with some charges
You fake mothafuckas, we gonna finish what you started
Your heart is a nickle sack, bitch you best to have a gat
Smoke a nigga with that trigga, Memphis nigga Project Pat
I'm down like the Kami Kaze soldier on a killing spree
Once we get into it dog, you gon' have to murder me
Who I be, I'm hiding in the bushes laying, push us
To the ground, ghetto clown, off your blood you shall drown


[Verse 3: Koopsta Knicca]
To be or not to be, now the Koopsta's off the streets
Only real G's close to me is my Celly
Jealous ass folks, tryna take me as a joke
But this pimp shit bitch, can't go I ti-zook all of you hoes
Loading up my mind, daily fucking my patience
Running from my visitations, just the coo fool can ya face me
Claim to be my friend, when ya taking a second look
I guess it's on then big bizness bitch, no money on my book
Mane this shit is hectic, so I'm calling up to God
Me and my charge partna booga, he's a rapper down with us
Party (?) 17's where I dwell
Stale (?) on my shelf, I'm felling as if I'm in hell
Yeah, soon I be bailed, bailed well living swell
Triple platinum with the Phantom, deja vu, fuck when I left
Oh me isn't this a binitch, please excuse me for my French
But you writing all these lyrics, if ya hear me then ya feel me


[Verse 4: Crunchy Black]
In the hood where I dwell and I dwell real well
For you playa hating ass bitches
Mane you might as well burn in hell
When you smell the aroma from them blunts
When I hit corners
Don't you duck, don't you dodge, cause it's only gonna be
Murder-murder on my mind, leaving blank in the pass
When you drop that fucking glass, mane I bet ya I kill your ass
Nigga pop with the Glock in a pine fucking box
Don't you try to call the fucking cop
Cause a nigga ain't gon' stop

[Verse 5: Project Pat]
Shooting, capping, jack and chill
Letting you so calleds know the deal
Hollow tips yo ass gonna feel, roll your dice bitch and you real
Fucking with the click, the crew, the clan, you gon' recognize
G's swanging out their trees, have you stanking with the flies
Cries coming up out your mouth, but they muffled by the tone
When I pull the trigga back, you enter the enternal zone
Southside killers, always staying strapped with them thangs
Project Pat, Memphis, Tennessee, where them killers hang


CD 1
  • 1 Our Arrival
  • 2 Stomp
  • 3 Money Flow
  • 4 Late Night Tip
  • 5 Gotcha Shakin'
  • 6 I Ain't Goin'
  • 7 Good Stuff
  • 8 Walk Up 2 Yo House
  • 9 In-2-Deep
  • 10 Last Man Standing
  • 11 Destruction Terror
  • 12 Body Parts
  • 13 Where's da Bud
  • 14 Gette'm Crunk
  • 15 Where da Killaz Hang
  • 16 The End
  • 17 Life or Death