Problem-Addict - Uncrowned feat KidTwist
toronto rap
toronto hiphop
indie band
problemaddict
Story behind the song
Showing off our skillz, chanting in the chorus that we're "rap kings without crowns"
Lyrics
Uncrowned Remix feat Problem-Addict
I’m the rhyme blaster, the suprime mind master, the kind of rhymes you cats can’t shine after / Line after line I’m quick to hit cats with this slick shit spit strictly sickness with raps rippin / bitches like Jack so you won’t catch this, kids are settin their brains aflame tryin to match wits / Got ya shook when I hit yo ear with a foul poem, I’m off the hook so I’ll you’ll hear is a dial tone / Dissecting rhymes in record time, wanna get served? Take a number and get in line / The number one so theres no second-guessing mine, when I rhyme every line makes you press rewind / My flows rough enuf to sink yo sink, you’re a hypochondriac; you just think yo sick / Plus my flow is sizzlin, yo thoughts are scarred and yo rhymes like soap in prison; you don’t wanna drop a bar! / When I spit yo brains broken after, its insane the way I’m chain-smoking rappers / The flow assassin theres nuthin you can do, bite my rhymes then you’ve bit more than you can chew / Thru and thru I’m the hottest to rap, severe minds every time that I drop to wax / I’m dropping these cats and they don’t land back on their feet, my rap is my heat bitch and I’m cocking it back!
CHORUS
The unsung sound is what we bring to this, when we’re done crowds still loud singing this / Win in one round and never swing a fist, we’re uncrowned but we’re still the kings of this *2
Me and Kid Twist huh, we up to some mischief, words come off of these lips like lipstick / Spit this sick shit like bird flu – if I were you I would keep my distance / Twisted like I’m Kid’s evil twin (muha) we’re identical – we just look different / Misfits, we ain’t no mofatts, still make no profits but wait til Christmas / cause we should be on everyone’s gift list right under yo tree, its T-W, P-A! / Two mics, a couple of djs – nah just one, son we muffle the clichés / Yo albums on the shelf? Wow that’s like tryin to sell a bag of of ruffles on Ebay! / You’re pussy; you must play NWBA (Whoa!)….now buckle yo seat belts / I need help – ya see? I live up to my name: Problem-Addict! (hit wall with fist) fuck now my knuckles are sprained / I got no luck with the dames, and fuck getting paid – man I only got a buck for the train! / Like chess yo I’m stuck in the game and I got the kinda rhymes to make yo knees buckle in pain / and drop to the floor (knock knock) Uhoh theres a knock the door, it’s the cops and they telling us to / turn the volume down so what you waitin for? Keep it goin till four / am and you too drunk get home on yo skate board, you better have a designated driver to take ya’ll / home and if not you can crash in the hall cause that’s better than crashin into a brick wall! / If ya’ll didn’t like this we’re not offended; thanks for coming now let me show you the exit!
CHORUS