Free download
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #2,771
Peak in subgenre #203
Author
RC
Rights
RC
Uploaded
August 20, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.3 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
Kid ima Smuggle-ya-health
Like ya ‘avy in brail’ my fucking ‘knuckles-our-felt!’
Leave ya troubled-in-hell! //
And saying you can ‘beat Rich’
Is not the same as saying you can Bust a ‘Nut-on-ya-Wealth!’
You not winning this match, Just realize that fully//
Retarded textcee! Capitalize ya multi!
Fuck the size of this bully.
tie the rope to ya throat And watch you rise with the pulley!//
You Dumb-n-not-Ghetto!
Only way ya flows come ‘clothes to me’ Is when they come-with-the-ecko!*//
Kid needs passion-n-hope!
And I aint a skool girl…But I’m passin-this-note!
you coming last you a joke!//
I’m reigning on herbs!
And you’re the only moron that keeps explaining-his-verse!
S’not sane if he’s first!//
I’ll come and ‘heel ya head’ like giving ya brain to a nurse!
You couldn’t be dropping hard, if you would tackle-rocks
cuz now the hassle-stops
cuz I’m ‘taking key easily’, and I got this battle-locked!
Ya crew’s wack, and it’s faker than Nelly’s!
And how’s the tourney going? Kid you’re not makin the semis!
And I aint hearing you now! S’not cuz ya breakin-ya-celly!
Get Smashed-with-Ninas!
And you only smack bitches, cuz you born to pass-a-Tina//Pasadena
Ya punches be like bouquets, cuz you throw to miss!
I’m a show this bitch!
Stand “C on his chest” like he was “growing-tits!
be glad-the-semi’s-done
cuz I’m magic man, got T. Macs and Pennys-1!
You sound like big sty, so you mad at everyone?!
--------
You’re verses whole styles text, shit I see denials next
but he seems confused when he flows, and writes while he’s vexed
I pile-reps! Dude sounds like the type of E-Thug
that thinks he’s got kids believing him that in the streets he deals-drugs
But the only roaches he gots popping are the real bugs!
Kid gotsta conceal-hugs, just so he can feel loved
s’like I’m taking ya virginity, cuz battling me
I know you feel-fucked! So kid you need real-luck
I aint lying its slim, but I aint trying to win,
I’m just smile when you grin, play you the violin
It’s worthwhile-then, and I know I aint winning hence
You getting friends, to peep each of your matches
but these peeps are all faggots, helping you seize all ya wack shit
You thank em heeps for the tactics, but shit…
Now I’m feeding you ten xanax, till ya breathin expands with
a heart-attack and seizure, and your wackness features
you to keep re-recording due to overactive rehearse
But I’m telling you dog,
You don’t go together with rap like fat kids in tight t-shirts!
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