Coffin Town Testo

You're a GonerYou ain't ever been to the Haunted Mound
You're a Goner
We come around your town
Toe pincher on me
Turnabout, Hackle Down
Grave Man creepin' through the trees
Goner hit my phone, get in the funery
Coffins by the pound, my bitch gon' lay with me
Hauntaholics Mixtapes
Turnabout (Hauntaholics, Real Haunted Mound)
We come around your town
Toe pincher on me
Turnabout, Hackle Down
Grave Man creepin' through the trees
Goner hit my phone, get in the funery
Coffins by the pound, my bitch gon' lay with me
Never gave a fuck, my .40 make you do the number 2
Mutilate your face and body, nobody could tell it's you
There ain't no coming round
There ain't no coming round
Hauntaholics

I came with my brothers, they surround you like vultures
I just lit up a coffin, an open toe pincher
Keep the casket closed, ask about questions later
Never gave a fuck, I'll fucking kill a damn hater
"Turnabout, Turnabout, why the mound always flexin'?"
'Cuz nobody, nobody fuck with my brethren
Grave man grip a chrome thang and Hackle got a AK Goner got a fucking bone knife from Little Forest
Who's that with the robin jeans?
It's Turnabout the man who'll fucking kill your whole team
Don't try me, or the mound where we come from
I don't give a fuck, what is did will be undone

We come around your town
Toe pincher on me
Turnabout, Hackle Down
Grave Man creepin' through the trees
Goner hit my phone, get in the funery
Coffins by the pound, my bitch gon' lay with me
Never gave a fuck, my .40 make you do the number 2
Mutilate your face and body, nobody could tell it's you
There ain't no coming round
There ain't no coming round

We posted in the woods, you'll never find us, we ain't—
Find us, we ain't coming out
In those same woods we beat your head, you never come around
It's the doomsday, bitch, you ain't no prepper, you ain't ready now
We put you in a coffin so deep, sleeping in white shrouds
This that Haunted Mound, we going dumb
American double V no one got it we be turning up
Hit you in the chest, cave it in now you coughing blood
Make that boy sick, coughing up, that boy got the suds
We rolling down the town, lots of killing
Die slowly for my 'n' go to heaven
Pull up here, you'll meet my weapon
Pull up here, you'll meet my Smith & Wesson

We come around your town
Toe pincher on me
Turnabout, Hackle Down
Grave Man creepin' through the trees
Goner hit my phone, get in the funery
Coffins by the pound, my bitch gon' lay with me
Never gave a fuck, my .40 make you do the number 2
Mutilate your face and body, nobody could tell it's you
There ain't no coming round
There ain't no coming round