| I stay focused, life’s all about balance |
| Success breeds ‘cause God gave me this talent |
| I never rode the bench, I always been a starter |
| And overtime gon' cost you more than four quarters |
| Big mouths I slap shut and slap nuts I vanquish |
| Flap them lips too much you’ll leave using sign language |
| Call me king ‘cause I wreck ‘em, polish ‘em with my septum |
| Trap ‘em when I catch ‘em, put motion sensors in they rectum |
| And then I send ‘em through so they can roam the blue |
| And you bet not call the police ‘cause every step you take I’ll be watching you |
| I’ll be watching you, I swear every step you take I’ll be watching you |
| Sick militant flow, like a carbine |
| Explicit with the lyrics, watch me blow like a time bomb |
| Soldier of fortune, no time for the outcome |
| SPC, where the hell Sniper come from? |
| H-Town, baby, no love for you busters |
| Regime too raw, that’s why they don’t love us |
| The Mexican patna reppin' SPC |
| Nobody in the game doing it like me |
| I’m surrounded by history, a legend in the making |
| K-Rino said homie that it’s mine for the taking |
| Can’t mess with the warriors, I’m bringing the pain |
| Snipe with the beast, militant mind-frame |
| Rapper K is the answer to the question of who is it |
| Got the call from the, flip my tongue like a lizard |
| Had no choice but to react when I first heard this track |
| Started jottin' down lines in the back of the Lac |
| Contemplating to myself, now where should I begin? |
| I’m headed to the lab, my phone rings, it’s K again |
| Said, «I'm giving you a heads-up, you better bring your A-game |
| ‘cause GT just killed it and Sniper wasn’t playin' |
| I arrived at the lab and heard this sh*t, he wasn’t frontin' |
| Now I’m standing at the mic, I’m ‘bout to spit something |
| I’m ‘bout to shine, ‘bout to go for mine |
| I only got twelve lines, ah sh*t, I’m outta time |
| Cool game, |
| Not only hood, they internationally know my name |
| Cl' Che but you can call me Ms West |
| The only rap chick in South Park in the library history chest |
| SPC, SUC, you can run across me, legendary emcee |
| Every word in my lyrics done paid dues |
| Google me, baby, under the keyword «She's a «They hittin' me from Germany saying, «Cl' Che’s cool» |
| They can’t speak English but they rappin' every word I put in Pro Tools |
| Spit something or just repeat this, «She's a little mama and she’s a bad chick |
| Just as is Anakin Skywalker before transforming to Darth Vader |
| My pen takes the form of a lightsaber |
| We touching the paper, my thoughts condense from vapors |
| My neighbors savor the flavor like babies pacing in front of a pit filled with |
| alligators |
| When calibrating my brain, can’t remain unanimated |
| I allocated a heavy dose of pain, it’s navigated |
| Straight to your mainframe through the main vein |
| You strain in vain to maintain but can’t contain |
| The flame the God rained down with love for Abel but disdain for Cain |
| Who he labeled a murderer of his brother, which was unstable and deranged |
| But now we gang-bang and slang ‘caine |
| I’m a South Park assassin that’s sicker than straw fakers |
| Walk-ins are, take upon all takers |
| God bless you and your mama |
| When f*ckin' with Murder, you end up with multiple head trauma |
| I talk the talk, walk the walk |
| So ease on down the road end up in chalk |
| I have no preference who I devour, man |
| Me with a hundred round clip make it easy to shower man |
| Now whoever thought Murder One was a rowdy man |
| A everyday cat that runs with a rowdy clan |
| South Park Coalition is the name of this rowdy band |
| Murder One and I’m outie man |
| I spot moon rocks with my optics |
| Got subatomic harpoons and deadly monsoons in my pocket |
| I pause and start morphing |
| Inner body experience where I enter your body and crush organs |
| I think 'til the floor spins |
| I’m still bombing after the war ends, endorphins so strong they make swords bend |
| Live and execute a rough lyrics prolific shooter |
| In the womb receiving visions from my physics tutor |
| Once the beat ignites, no more MCs in sight |
| I’m from a planet where midgets are seven feet in height |
| I don’t let cowards speak plus my powers deep |
| Work for nine years in a row and recharge on a hour’s sleep |
| Officer Cartwheel, officer Cooper |
| Tuck your tails in when you see us on street, if not, we shoot ya |
| On your way to hell ‘cause heaven you never made it |
| Walk around in your shell ‘cause your soul’s been desecrated |
| Don’t slouch, keep my pistol in perfect pouch |
| Hit you when you in your Snuggie, sittin' on your curvy couch |
| Rhymes blow up, scar you in legions |
| Twisted metal travels to equatorial regions |
| Retaliation got a lot of remedies |
| One by one your family members erased like Kennedys |
| I’m a rapper slash producer slash terrorist |
| Slash illuminati grow from ear to ear, I’m the scariest |
| Out a playa know his mama planted the truth in me |
| And grew up so big 'til it popped, now it’s loose in me |
| Mind frame brain ain’t the same that it used to be |
| I rather live life than chase women and jewelry |
| Spit game came with a heavenly layer |
| beware, be everywhere |
| It ain’t no playin' with you, busters, I will shoot in the air |
| But instead of spittin' some bullets, I’ma spit you a prayer |
| Dear God, let ‘em ride, give ‘em where to survive |
| Leave 'em alive, even if he wishing I died |
| And dear God, let ‘em ride even if we collide |
| ‘cause I know even when I’m wrong, I want you on my side |
| And that’s |
| Spittin' at you fools, |
| Kick down doors, go and stage |
| Seek the truth, gain self-knowledge |
| Educate yourself, as well as go college |
| Spit from the mind, spit to the beat |
| Spit from the heart, spit for those raised on the streets |
| Words transcribe onto paper without thinking |
| Some think they’re on top but I see ‘em sinking |
| I’m a spitter, old school tagger |
| Flows still sharp like a sharpened dagger |
| Climb the ladder from the gutter to the stage |
| Now I spit something just to earn my wage |
| It’s the return of |
| Class of '89, bloodline SPC |
| I’m a lyrical train-wreck, spot-rocker, |
| Slam dunk kind of flow |
| Shattered the glass in South Park but I was on the court in Tokyo |
| Half man, half silverback |
| Half of my opponent hanging out my mouth |
| I got an anaconda’s digestive tract |
| Assassin’s Creed hard when I spit |
| But so hard and jumped on my d*ck |
| rare breed of the SPC seed |
| signing out live from, yo |
| Uh, full block say goodbye when I spit something |
| That’s for ni**as left, we burn and get to dumpin' |
| That’s for ni**as thinking they chick won’t leave ‘cause a ni**a rich |
| But when, she got hooked on the bigger fish |
| I’m like the old school Wu, all about cream |
| Getting to the been like sippin' on lean |
| Gotta spit something, bringing out the team |
| Got enough drive for two and a half men, call me Charlie Green |
| I’m in the streets with that thing, I gotta get it right |
| You can dodge for so long like Eddie, my chopper Scary Spice |
| I leave the like a college grad |
| What I spit, ni**as catching bullets like a young Jerry Rice |
| Point Blank, the Southside OG |
| They know the real so they still keep they eyes on me |
| You might not see me on BET or things of that nature |
| Can’t get no play when ni**as at the radio station hate ya |
| One thing they can’t take from me is the streets |
| A lot of these pussies can’t be found in the streets |
| Yeah, like I’m all over |
| Call me AI when I hit the state-line and I crossover |
| I represent Texas like Vince, a boss like Prince, you can check my prints |
| You might see me in the club with some Lords and Bloods |
| Got a sherm flow motherf*ckin' enjoy the drugs |
| Wanna get high with the Blankster? F*ck that |
| The door closed, all you b*tch ni**as and you fake h*es |
| South Park Coalition, that’s us |
| Remember that when you start talkin' ‘bout Houston and don’t mention us |
| I’m suffering, my heart is in pain |
| I’m a madman ‘cause the whole world is insane |
| I read scriptures ‘cause decisions come too hard |
| Money, cash, currency — which is our true god? |
| Good or bad, right or wrong, life’s a seesaw |
| Sometimes the straight and narrow path has a detour |
| My mind clicks like a snare with a mob kick |
| Ideas spark like a high hat constant |
| The city breeze, the streets are a part of me |
| Danger don’t bother me, there’s ice water in my arteries |
| I mean-mug a alligator like he did something |
| Stared a cobra eye to eye, dared him to spit something |
| spit hot lava disperse |
| Rough like tryna quench a thirst |
| Must release a verse among the first |
| Clicked up fools puttin' up in a hearse |
| Pressure bust pipes where the sh*t done burst |
| These fools right here are the worst |
| Claim your turf, we claim the earth |
| Hardest clique b*tch from the birth |
| Only curse is spittin' the truth |
| Call the laws when in the booth |
| Soft ass h*es pray to live |
| This track missing one thing, AC Chill |
| Ni**as always ask me why I kick this psycho sh*t |
| I got a axe with ten blades that I might go get |
| If I explain it to you, ni**a, then you will get hit |
| Tell your mama it’s a black dress she needs to go get |
| When it sticks in, that motherf*cker makes me proud |
| Spray blood so thick and far it looks like a cloud |
| And I love ‘em so much that I named all ten |
| But I won’t say they names 'til they all go in and come out |
| The brains left for stains |
| And that’s the reason why I gave ‘em ten different names |
| Like Becky, Robert, Kevin, Michael and Drew |
| Keisha,, K-Rino, you name the last two uh |
| It all started |
| In the kitchen with a mission, tryna beat the competition |
| Treat it like a job so I can retire with a pension |
| Hit the block with a, four oz’s in my pocket |
| I’m outta control, you just can’t stop me |
| J. Water in this b*tch and I’m spittin' on the mic |
| And I promise that I can do it all night |
| Yeah motherf*ckin' ni**as, SPC |
| When you lookin' for that white girl, come see me |
| I’m a beast in these streets, monster in this motherf*ckin' game |
| When they call me, I let them bullets rain |
| No matter the consequences, I’m still here |
| Sippin' syrup, smoking' herb in the atmosphere, yeah, hahh |
| I politick when it come to spit these rhymes |
| Boy talkin' about my rep, man, ‘cause they ain’t got a style like mine |
| I’m the new generation, I got the remedy to rep |
| No disabilities, only the ability to snap |
| I’ll take words and abstract, you can call me analyst |
| Boy talkin' ‘bout they gon' run when they peters can’t even spit sh*t |
| Ni**as like the way I rip this, my tongue I flip it |
| Yeah they like the way I spit it |
| See, how many times have we done this, man? |
| How many clique songs have you heard over the years from the South Park |
| Coalition? |
| All the way down, slipped into a coma murder script |
| Name on a bullet, the original South Park Coalition |
| This what we do, man |
| So all the rappers around the world, y’all keep on makin' y’all clique songs, |
| man |
| Let’s keep this thing going, we can keep throwing |
| Keepin' that work in, mash on these tricks, yeah, haha, that’s it, |
| it ain’t enough room in this booth for all us |
Informazioni sulla canzone In questa pagina puoi trovare il testo della canzone Spit Sumthin (feat. Hoodizm, Sniper, Rapper K, Cl’ Che & Justice Allah), artista - K Rino. Canzone dell'album Annihilation of the Evil Machine, nel genere Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп