the game - angry mic lyrics
[verse one: angry mic]
i love you hip-hop, i’ll go until the tip top
cause everything i spit knock and i don’t need a pitstop
i know my sh-t hot, so baby grab that ziploc
it’s empty? go and get doc cause someone gonna get got
to any emcee that bit my flow, let’s go quid pro quo
i am fit to blow
i know you know, so stop acting ignorant
spit in front of the fans, now they catching wind of it
yo, my crime syndicate looking omnipotent
i refine instruments, you define impotence
the vocab will fill up the whole pad
got your ho bagged, next stance, you go stag
and she’s so bad, jada[kiss], “why” they so mad?
forget when their skull stabbed then getting their toe tagged
i keep bud in jeans, i keep flooding scenes
you knee deep up sh-ts creek, i’m in the submarine
and yeah, ???son is steamed???, about a full head of it
my soul sentiment will now extol benefits
’til it’s sold then i mold, their is no precedent
’bout to blow like the president, make dough like embezzlement
defense save us, no proving the mens rea
i befriend s-d-sts who move work like mientkiewitcz
i rock this, so rock this, so f-cking obnoxious
to top it, i’m toxic, i’ll give you the synopsis
i never got respect i deserve, every pitch was a curve
another b-tch on my nerves, another herd of those herbs
who just inferred, never heard a word, this is absurd
come revenge time, i’m cold as the dishes i serve
hoping some of them listen, after this i’mma quiz ’em
dudes missing if my dreams never come to fruition
what am i sipping? this a fifth and you don’t sip it, you chug
quips they love him, quick to judge him, so they sticking like mud
think he couldn’t get jacked? who’s he thinking he was?
jack-son like the bill to f-cking picked up a dub
i’ll have him missing some blood if he persist with the grudge
show he’s making a mess, put this b-tch in the tub
[droseph stalin]:
calm down, angry, just calm down!
[verse two: angry mic]
i can’t calm down, kid, i am confounded
do these rappers even know what a compound is?
thought so by the way their last song sounded
know the game but not a referee, i’m hip-hop’s refugee
bob shot the sheriff, i’m the one who got the deputy
my destiny impressively manifested in me
i think about it obsessively, making this a necessity
repping blocks, man? your street softer than sesame
so, weaponry is meant for the motherf-ckers who slept on me
when testing me you’ll get to see why i’m on this trajectory
bud ain’t got no seeds? my dealer got a vasectomy!
mic, funny isn’t it? don’t remember you spitting it
if you were in jerz for college, it would be different
prolly be less dissidents, maybe even -ssistances
contingent on the chance that i wasn’t facing imprisonment
how you pitching it? weigh out the minimal, bag it
or do you dream of a ki? real original, f-ggot
you ain’t got no kb, no one’s itching to have it
i’mma rip your arm off and have you pitching like abbott
now, i’m quick to bury any tom, d-ck, or harry
cause i was overlooked just like sean singletary
it’s time for a breakthrough, my rhyming, they take two
if god don’t like ugly, he must f-cking hate you
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