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Formally The Flow, X Konn has stepped his game up and is back for your listening pleasure.
Re-wind! The return to SoundClick is on!
X Konn! I'm back!
Song Info
Genre
Charts
#8,074 in subgenre
Peak #110
Charts
Peak #1,082
Author
X Konn/Wu Tang Clan
Rights
Matthew Scott, 2008
Uploaded
May 18, 2008
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.8 MB • 128 kbps • 3:06
Lyrics
(Verse)
I defecate on maps, before I flex my cash//
I just wanna sex yo’ ass, how is that?//
Chasing that hash, put a million on your ass//
Blood spilling, butt splitting thug villain, sick as//
Any motherfucker that you heard on a beat//
Keep my gut to the gutter, tongue to the street//
Motherfucker, I’m leaping outta cabs, hands fulla bags//
Enter the bank, leave with paper laced cash//
Novocaine, surviving the hurricane//
I hit with the might of explosive propane//
Strike with the forces of forty horses//
Of course I’m remorseless, like un-dead corpses//
I tried shadowboxing, but got knocked out//
My own fucking shadow knocked my front teeth out// (Oof)
So now-a-days, I take life how it falls//
Until these dumb motherfuckers are bowing in all halls//
Acting like Jesus is in every single church//
Organized religion won’t hurt, but it only gets worse//
I’m back on a track, like France on the maps//
In a class in a US state school after failure in Iraq//
I’m my own world, I make your toes curl//
Without being in the sack, face covered in hurl//
Like a tilt a whirl, got me frazzled in a blur//
Got my visions disturbed, like visions of a world//
With peace and serenity, what you kidding me?//
Slipping me, three E’s, under the table like “psst pop deese”//
With no provocation, I’m alienating statements//
Issued by the government, before the world remains tense//
All crazy with this lazy flow, I produced//
Have ma face screwed, like “who the fuck is you”//
Grammar, has Montana fucked up, like Alabama//
Or like Louisiana, or any straight guy winding up in the slammer//
I keep my flow in your face, like drug passing//
Stay trafficking that hash in, bags of white, I’m flashing//
Cash I don’t have, like I got grand’s in my ass//
Pocket, hands, reach, as I attempt ta dash//
Believe me, it really, doesn’t take to repeat me//
Eagerly, in front of any street fiend//
I stay outta beef, freaks, matter of fact I’m done//
With weak geeks, rapping behind images of plastic guns//
I did that once, had million whores on the dick//
Now its exposed, I still got these whores on my dick//
My content isn’t garbage, just plain retarded//
Like having BEP, sing “lets get it started”//
I am legend like Will Smith, I stay on a blueprint//
Like Jay Z, with a short stint, in the retirement bin//
Binge drinking, gut sinking, from a perfect pack//
To some form of nut sack, covering bitch rack//
Keep a flow blatantly laced with fascism//
Like BNP, only this shits activism//
Stay outta my zone, for I leave you with your dome//
Rammed right up your ass, like a orange traffic cone//
Does it sound like I make sense, at least not to me//
Dress to appeal, but so provocatively//
I’m pro active, hyper active, that’s ma tactics//
For staying awake, after all these sleep tablets//
I keep talking to myself, but I won’t listen//
I ignore my own words, so I ignore my own wisdom//
If I glisten, I glisten, you was on the ride//
But the fame is mine, so stay at the behind//
Keep brown nosing, while the camera exposing//
All the imploding drug habits I’ve developed like convalescing//
Hypochondriacs, at the Priory clinic//
I clinically develop, rhythmic, deep thrombosis//
I’m straight sick, lay waste to any slick//
Conniving, manipulative son of a bitch//
Smack you in the shins, with prosthetic limbs//
Until I have all you bitches laying KO’d and limp//
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