歌曲 | 616 Rewind |
歌手 | Cunninlynguists |
专辑 | Will Rap for Food |
作曲 : Celph Titled ... | |
Yo, first I sprinkle a verse | |
By adding words, rhymes | |
Flippin' 'em in to a verse with lines | |
Then i'ma hit 'em with spurts rhyme | |
Then i'ma let 'em and split 'em and add | |
Feelin' my wrath | |
Vagrantly depart to the south so dirty | |
You want to be given a bath | |
Give it a pathological lie to deny that i'm nice | |
And the truth hurts (ow) | |
Wearin' a blue shirt the best buy for the price | |
Figure, Six guys this live and nice on the mic | |
So don't dis us because we're fly, | |
Until you try what it's like | |
I'm liable to Slice at these emcee bastards | |
Leaving their knees fractured | |
Needing every piece of their teeth re-crafted | |
So don't front 'cause I see past it | |
You're harmless like wolverines adamantium claws | |
When they're retracted | |
The scene's backlit, | |
It seems static will wreak havoc | |
A beat battered, I'll keep rappin' | |
In leech battle, will dreams shatter | |
In three nanoseconds (damn) | |
Count your patients, One step to Tonedeff | |
You're gone in sixty seconds like Nicholas Cage is | |
[Deacon] | |
I leave you riddled with basics | |
There's no need for complexity | |
To be beside myself I need God next to me | |
Just kiddin' | |
I'm partially bull shittin' | |
The only time I take a loss pussy's | |
When I lose kittens | |
I pitch shit past 'ya, no matter who's hittin' | |
I don't capsize boats, | |
But I got crews flippin' | |
You catch it? the message needs analyzation | |
Step and your boys will be pouring alcoholic libations | |
I flew sick, you knew this | |
I'll puzzle you, doofus | |
Fuck mental | |
In the stretcher went to a physical Rubix | |
It will take more than stick to rearrange it then change it | |
His language is so strange, how do we contain it? | |
You can't just paint this stuff up on a canvas | |
You have to get the mental picture | |
To begin to understand this | |
So, Anticipate defeat, the league chances | |
Got your head speared, no lances | |
Doing burial dances | |
[sankofa] | |
I'm giving forty like with speech imediments | |
Each other threat causes confident cats to stutter, | |
Step caught a reputation down the sides: | |
Too raw for porn overdubs, plates of leftovers | |
Eat some warmed over | |
Thug's a jaded wordsmith, | |
Bleeding ghost writer's pen's dry | |
Get on other rapper's nerves | |
Corroding dead, dried sweat | |
My thoughts connect, | |
You ought to step away fast, | |
It seems I gave cats "hey that's the way they make tracks" | |
Forget a scare, I'm not generous, kid | |
Split society of (?) and indented in (?) | |
Independently sick | |
And this is just a quick reminder | |
If you was to pick a cipher | |
Then I'll bust you quick to Rikers | |
All expenses paid, no questions asked | |
I'll get open in the cut and we can flesh your gash | |
Cat, relax. Man, the last time I took a breather | |
I got brought up on murder charges | |
Start the crooked finger | |
[Kno] | |
Yo, I'm not the fella to riff with | |
I'm so nice Mr. Rogers sued my ass | |
Roll with henchmen, | |
Not, we'll switch heads | |
From wanna be thugs to 24/7 bitch kids | |
Topping my shitlist | |
Production cat bastards want jiggy beats | |
For some whack rappers | |
Switch my style if you're tryin' to play, | |
My beats will maraud your ass any time of day | |
Like Deuce Bigalow's chick, | |
Whenever your through shit | |
People see you and holler "That's one huge bitch!" | |
Shit, when the LP rolls out | |
The source will be forced to make the quotables | |
A three page fold-out | |
No doubt, I'm fed up with this whack shit | |
Ballin the next gear, wearing Abercrombie and Fitch | |
Any Jiggy rapper acting fly on the radio | |
Is getting pulled out of rotation like a Firestone radial | |
[Kashal Tee] | |
Kashal Tee, the hip hop scene I fathom | |
Let people know my windows belt keeps my jeans from sagging | |
It seems I'm raggin, | |
But fiends been naggin' for my next release | |
I apply all my expertise to make them extra pleased | |
Even get the breaks to peace that make a brother feel this | |
All I do is independent, like double helix | |
Selling out? well I hope that you're not | |
But how else could you afford all the soap that you drop? | |
You can't fuck wit me, yo, kid look | |
Taking me out ain't no small feat, you ain't bigfoot | |
You should know who the heck you're facing | |
'cause my reputation leaves no room for speculation | |
Now battle, is that you want to do? | |
What kind of man are you? | |
I bet you sit on a urinal too | |
Now that it's proven to you | |
You got a lot to tell us, | |
Them got your heart skipping beats like acappellas | |
[Celph-titled] | |
I'll be a mythic author, | |
Writing poems on tombstones | |
Celph-titled and, nigga you couldn't bring home | |
I'm at the crib wit your bitch givin' me slow head | |
Split you up in more pieces than when Jesus broke bread | |
My click is raw, be prepared when you meet us | |
Kill an unborn baby and you still couldn't de-fetus (ooh) | |
I don't battle with rhymes, | |
I'd rather battle with nines | |
Instead of using my mind | |
I'd rather shatter your spine | |
The closest you ever came to a punch line, | |
Was waiting for refreshments at the prom in '89 | |
I'm super crafty, super nasty, super rhaspy | |
Fuckin' bitches with super asscheeks | |
You fucking faggots don't know the raw speeches | |
I beat a bitch untill her whole body turns to cleavage | |
I'm hyperactive so I drink decaffeinated | |
My left jab is fatal, leave your cats decapitated! |
zuò qǔ : Celph Titled ... | |
Yo, first I sprinkle a verse | |
By adding words, rhymes | |
Flippin' ' em in to a verse with lines | |
Then i' ma hit ' em with spurts rhyme | |
Then i' ma let ' em and split ' em and add | |
Feelin' my wrath | |
Vagrantly depart to the south so dirty | |
You want to be given a bath | |
Give it a pathological lie to deny that i' m nice | |
And the truth hurts ow | |
Wearin' a blue shirt the best buy for the price | |
Figure, Six guys this live and nice on the mic | |
So don' t dis us because we' re fly, | |
Until you try what it' s like | |
I' m liable to Slice at these emcee bastards | |
Leaving their knees fractured | |
Needing every piece of their teeth recrafted | |
So don' t front ' cause I see past it | |
You' re harmless like wolverines adamantium claws | |
When they' re retracted | |
The scene' s backlit, | |
It seems static will wreak havoc | |
A beat battered, I' ll keep rappin' | |
In leech battle, will dreams shatter | |
In three nanoseconds damn | |
Count your patients, One step to Tonedeff | |
You' re gone in sixty seconds like Nicholas Cage is | |
Deacon | |
I leave you riddled with basics | |
There' s no need for complexity | |
To be beside myself I need God next to me | |
Just kiddin' | |
I' m partially bull shittin' | |
The only time I take a loss pussy' s | |
When I lose kittens | |
I pitch shit past ' ya, no matter who' s hittin' | |
I don' t capsize boats, | |
But I got crews flippin' | |
You catch it? the message needs analyzation | |
Step and your boys will be pouring alcoholic libations | |
I flew sick, you knew this | |
I' ll puzzle you, doofus | |
Fuck mental | |
In the stretcher went to a physical Rubix | |
It will take more than stick to rearrange it then change it | |
His language is so strange, how do we contain it? | |
You can' t just paint this stuff up on a canvas | |
You have to get the mental picture | |
To begin to understand this | |
So, Anticipate defeat, the league chances | |
Got your head speared, no lances | |
Doing burial dances | |
sankofa | |
I' m giving forty like with speech imediments | |
Each other threat causes confident cats to stutter, | |
Step caught a reputation down the sides: | |
Too raw for porn overdubs, plates of leftovers | |
Eat some warmed over | |
Thug' s a jaded wordsmith, | |
Bleeding ghost writer' s pen' s dry | |
Get on other rapper' s nerves | |
Corroding dead, dried sweat | |
My thoughts connect, | |
You ought to step away fast, | |
It seems I gave cats " hey that' s the way they make tracks" | |
Forget a scare, I' m not generous, kid | |
Split society of ? and indented in ? | |
Independently sick | |
And this is just a quick reminder | |
If you was to pick a cipher | |
Then I' ll bust you quick to Rikers | |
All expenses paid, no questions asked | |
I' ll get open in the cut and we can flesh your gash | |
Cat, relax. Man, the last time I took a breather | |
I got brought up on murder charges | |
Start the crooked finger | |
Kno | |
Yo, I' m not the fella to riff with | |
I' m so nice Mr. Rogers sued my ass | |
Roll with henchmen, | |
Not, we' ll switch heads | |
From wanna be thugs to 24 7 bitch kids | |
Topping my shitlist | |
Production cat bastards want jiggy beats | |
For some whack rappers | |
Switch my style if you' re tryin' to play, | |
My beats will maraud your ass any time of day | |
Like Deuce Bigalow' s chick, | |
Whenever your through shit | |
People see you and holler " That' s one huge bitch!" | |
Shit, when the LP rolls out | |
The source will be forced to make the quotables | |
A three page foldout | |
No doubt, I' m fed up with this whack shit | |
Ballin the next gear, wearing Abercrombie and Fitch | |
Any Jiggy rapper acting fly on the radio | |
Is getting pulled out of rotation like a Firestone radial | |
Kashal Tee | |
Kashal Tee, the hip hop scene I fathom | |
Let people know my windows belt keeps my jeans from sagging | |
It seems I' m raggin, | |
But fiends been naggin' for my next release | |
I apply all my expertise to make them extra pleased | |
Even get the breaks to peace that make a brother feel this | |
All I do is independent, like double helix | |
Selling out? well I hope that you' re not | |
But how else could you afford all the soap that you drop? | |
You can' t fuck wit me, yo, kid look | |
Taking me out ain' t no small feat, you ain' t bigfoot | |
You should know who the heck you' re facing | |
' cause my reputation leaves no room for speculation | |
Now battle, is that you want to do? | |
What kind of man are you? | |
I bet you sit on a urinal too | |
Now that it' s proven to you | |
You got a lot to tell us, | |
Them got your heart skipping beats like acappellas | |
Celphtitled | |
I' ll be a mythic author, | |
Writing poems on tombstones | |
Celphtitled and, nigga you couldn' t bring home | |
I' m at the crib wit your bitch givin' me slow head | |
Split you up in more pieces than when Jesus broke bread | |
My click is raw, be prepared when you meet us | |
Kill an unborn baby and you still couldn' t defetus ooh | |
I don' t battle with rhymes, | |
I' d rather battle with nines | |
Instead of using my mind | |
I' d rather shatter your spine | |
The closest you ever came to a punch line, | |
Was waiting for refreshments at the prom in ' 89 | |
I' m super crafty, super nasty, super rhaspy | |
Fuckin' bitches with super asscheeks | |
You fucking faggots don' t know the raw speeches | |
I beat a bitch untill her whole body turns to cleavage | |
I' m hyperactive so I drink decaffeinated | |
My left jab is fatal, leave your cats decapitated! |