a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

fre9uency - abcxyz lyrics

Loading...

no one knows the train of thought, i’ve been the conductor for/
wonderin, with all that i’m jugglin is there somethin more//\

couldn’t say for certain ain’t need curtains in the night
eyes open wide as i’m writin so i can search and strike//

for the perfect words on mics with amazin sound
fuck rough drafts fast enough to take and change around//

lines multiples times before i take em down/
then think about it out loud before i make a sound//

by the time i spit it i’ve written an intricate
rap that’ll leave battle emcees death certificates//

as they p-ss away send em to the afterlife/
the way i hack and slice cats is like makin a sacrifice //

don’t ever try this at home cuz this is bad advice/
i smack ya twice with the chrome for tryn’ to grab a mic//

disclaimer i don’t pack a gat, matter fact
very unnecessary in my childhood habitat//

luckily grew, but with nothin to fuckin do/
from mother goose to teenager blazin a blunt or two//

in like 5th grade got my first mixtape/
parental advisory unedited gettin ingrained//

the best ever to grip mics/
spittin shit until i’m fuckin rippin my windpipe//

i’m gettin it in like everybody who ever rapped/
simultaneously i ain’t just came to see the cheddar stack//

but i’ll fuckin take the money too/
choke a groupie d-ck is a doozy turnin a honey blue//

————————
underground like my rappin grabbin the fuckin crown
people love the sound write lightnin and bring the thunder down//

get it set off you on the mic then get off/
i’m not pop fuck ricky i be the next boss//

vodka n’ gin rappin captain gotta be him/
ya future is lookin impossibly grim;

you watch and pretend, that’s an act, i grab my swagga back
ya’ll don’t want war corny like package of crackerjacks//

ya faces slapped n smacked, people will catch blows
i speak then gats’ll clap- vocabulary that blast holes//

thru ya chest n’ gut, your organs are spread the fuck
over a radius of pavement sprayin shit red with guts//

you bleedin out.. before you could ever see me count/
like a referee when i get to three where you sleep’s the ground//

go and catch a z.. my lyrical recipe/
is inception shit that i’m pennin’s a level never dreamed//

no dicaprio f-ggots that got the cash to blow/
challenge me to a battle bet a stack and i’ll gladly flow;

and leave you dead with a rap shoot n’ produce cadavers quick
state facts like information under a snapple lids//

here’s a little stat, i’ll shatter you brittle cats/
ya face invite fights, type that a little kid’ll smack//

school yard b-tch, all i’m throwin is hard hits
you on the pavement makin’ you lay on the boulevard stiff//

a ditch ornament decoratin the pot holes
i got hot flows when i c-m with em i’ma drop loads;
of perfected sentences and it’s endless the length of shit
in my memory, i tend to empty the ink from pens//

i don’t need defense, all my attacks k!ll/
i rap ill swallowin bottles of advil//

or aspirin when i’m rappin’ n’ droppin shit
you pussies like vaginas you rhymin like gynecologists//

my la cosa nostra flow like the gotti clique
when you drop a beat i just hope you know i’ma body it//

at a f-ggot i’m gladly blastin the shotty b-tch/
don’t gotta run with a tommy gun you would probly miss//

i’m not the one you wanna diss bein honest with
you that the auidence is never gonna applaud ya shit//

your soft rap don’t even deserve a golf clap
nothin was even kinda good ya lines is jusat all wack//

my rhymin is all crack… the china white
the fight of iron mic on the mic is what i am rhymin like//

you couldn’t even get any the people slightly hype
i’m speakin like desert eagles when my stylo ignite tonite;

like a second sun how many better or tighter none/
the grim reaper, the kid teach ya to bite ya tongue//

i’m sonnin you without maury povich to test the kid/
a single sperm in my scrotum’s over intelligence;

levels that you have never met understandings you never get/
i’m brill-i-ant the sk!ll when i’m spittin is heaven sent//

my flow is savage check the swordsman slicin heads from necks
i give you post traumatic stress disorder like demented vets//

like i’m morphin into a sorceror send a hex/
leave you shakin erasin brains like a etch a sketch//

i’m comin down on you watch me drop in from out the blue
split you into a mill’ion pieces fore you can count to two//

what i’m bout to do is dominate lames
you actin shady for fame, i stop ya slaughter the game//

murder the industry i am workin with chemistry
of writin words doper than heisenberg’s methamphetamine//

- abcxyz lyrics

Random Song Lyrics :

Popular

Loading...