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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 Letras de cancionesNever 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 From Letras Mania