The Punisher 歌词
| 歌曲 | The Punisher |
| 歌手 | Eric B. & Rakim |
| 专辑 | Don't Sweat The Technique |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| Kill him again | |
| Try to identify the man in front of ya | |
| But it ain’t the role, the gear or the money, the | |
| Swift intellectionist with plenty ya | |
| Bite, if it’s dark | |
| I’ll spark every one of ya | |
| I throw a mic in the crowd it’s a question | |
| I got the answer it includes directions | |
| Go manufacture a mask show me after | |
| A glass of a master that has to make musical massacre | |
| Attack your wack ’till it’s handicapped | |
| You’ll never hold the mic again, try to hand it back' | |
| Cuz every rapper that comes | |
| I cut off his thumbs | |
| Put a record to his neck if he swallows it hums | |
| Slice from ear to ear so till can hear better | |
| Before he bleed to death here, hear every letter | |
| And you can see quick and thick the blood can get | |
| If you try to change the style or the subject | |
| As I get deep in the rhyme | |
| I’m becomin’ a | |
| Emcee murderer before | |
| I’m done, | |
| I’m aPrepare the chamber the torture’s comin’ up | |
| Trip through the mind at the end you’ll find | |
| It’s the punisher | |
| Kill ’em again | |
| I hold the mic as hostage, emcees are ransom | |
| Rhymes’ll punish ’em 'cuz they don’t undertsand ’em | |
| I heat up his brain, then explain then | |
| I hand him | |
| A redhot microphone that’s how | |
| I planned ’em | |
| Rhymes call information unite midnight | |
| Like a platoon putting bullet wounds in the mic | |
| If ya curse me, it ain’t no mercy | |
| Give him a autopsy, killed by a verse of me | |
| I took a kid and cut off his eyelid | |
| Kill him slow so he could see what | |
| I didAnd if he don’t understand what | |
| I saidI’m pushing his eyeballs way to the back of his head | |
| So he can see what he’s getting into | |
| A part of the mind that he never been through | |
| A journey is coming 'cuz ya getting sent to | |
| A place harder to find but it’s all in the mental | |
| I ran a brain scan to locate his game plan | |
| When I’m through with his brain he ain’t the same, man | |
| Did he lose his mind or lost in his mind | |
| But this ain’t the lost and found because ya can’t find | |
| Your foundation coasting, your mind is | |
| Drifting, in slow motion frozen | |
| Looks like another murder at the | |
| Mardi grass, | |
| BToo late to send out a search party | |
| Once ya out of ya head then ya can’t get back | |
| I give ’em a map, but he still get trapped, so | |
| Prepare the chamber, the torture’s coming up | |
| Trip through the mind, at the end you’ll find it’s the punisher | |
| Kill ’em again | |
| Dangerous rhymes performed like surgery | |
| Cuts so deep you’ll be bleeding burgundy | |
| My intellect wrecks and disconnects your cerebral cortex | |
| Your cerebellum is next | |
| Your conscience becomes sub-conscious | |
| Soon your response is nonsense | |
| The last words are blurred mumbled then slurred | |
| Then your verbs are no longer heard | |
| You get your lung fried so good you’re tongue-tied | |
| He couldn’t swing or hang so he hung ’till he died | |
| Reincarnate him and kill him again again and again gain and again | |
| I leave him in the mausoleum so you can see him | |
| I got a dead | |
| M Cing museum | |
| When I create ’em, | |
| I cremate ’em and complicate ’em | |
| You can’t save ’em there’s no ultamatum | |
| Mic’s lay around full of ashes with the victim’s name in slashes | |
| Got a long list and | |
| I’m a get every one of ya | |
| Beware of the punisher | |
| Then I’m a kill ’em again | |
| Wake ’em up kill ’em again |
| Kill him again | |
| Try to identify the man in front of ya | |
| But it ain' t the role, the gear or the money, the | |
| Swift intellectionist with plenty ya | |
| Bite, if it' s dark | |
| I' ll spark every one of ya | |
| I throw a mic in the crowd it' s a question | |
| I got the answer it includes directions | |
| Go manufacture a mask show me after | |
| A glass of a master that has to make musical massacre | |
| Attack your wack ' till it' s handicapped | |
| You' ll never hold the mic again, try to hand it back' | |
| Cuz every rapper that comes | |
| I cut off his thumbs | |
| Put a record to his neck if he swallows it hums | |
| Slice from ear to ear so till can hear better | |
| Before he bleed to death here, hear every letter | |
| And you can see quick and thick the blood can get | |
| If you try to change the style or the subject | |
| As I get deep in the rhyme | |
| I' m becomin' a | |
| Emcee murderer before | |
| I' m done, | |
| I' m aPrepare the chamber the torture' s comin' up | |
| Trip through the mind at the end you' ll find | |
| It' s the punisher | |
| Kill ' em again | |
| I hold the mic as hostage, emcees are ransom | |
| Rhymes' ll punish ' em ' cuz they don' t undertsand ' em | |
| I heat up his brain, then explain then | |
| I hand him | |
| A redhot microphone that' s how | |
| I planned ' em | |
| Rhymes call information unite midnight | |
| Like a platoon putting bullet wounds in the mic | |
| If ya curse me, it ain' t no mercy | |
| Give him a autopsy, killed by a verse of me | |
| I took a kid and cut off his eyelid | |
| Kill him slow so he could see what | |
| I didAnd if he don' t understand what | |
| I saidI' m pushing his eyeballs way to the back of his head | |
| So he can see what he' s getting into | |
| A part of the mind that he never been through | |
| A journey is coming ' cuz ya getting sent to | |
| A place harder to find but it' s all in the mental | |
| I ran a brain scan to locate his game plan | |
| When I' m through with his brain he ain' t the same, man | |
| Did he lose his mind or lost in his mind | |
| But this ain' t the lost and found because ya can' t find | |
| Your foundation coasting, your mind is | |
| Drifting, in slow motion frozen | |
| Looks like another murder at the | |
| Mardi grass, | |
| BToo late to send out a search party | |
| Once ya out of ya head then ya can' t get back | |
| I give ' em a map, but he still get trapped, so | |
| Prepare the chamber, the torture' s coming up | |
| Trip through the mind, at the end you' ll find it' s the punisher | |
| Kill ' em again | |
| Dangerous rhymes performed like surgery | |
| Cuts so deep you' ll be bleeding burgundy | |
| My intellect wrecks and disconnects your cerebral cortex | |
| Your cerebellum is next | |
| Your conscience becomes subconscious | |
| Soon your response is nonsense | |
| The last words are blurred mumbled then slurred | |
| Then your verbs are no longer heard | |
| You get your lung fried so good you' re tonguetied | |
| He couldn' t swing or hang so he hung ' till he died | |
| Reincarnate him and kill him again again and again gain and again | |
| I leave him in the mausoleum so you can see him | |
| I got a dead | |
| M Cing museum | |
| When I create ' em, | |
| I cremate ' em and complicate ' em | |
| You can' t save ' em there' s no ultamatum | |
| Mic' s lay around full of ashes with the victim' s name in slashes | |
| Got a long list and | |
| I' m a get every one of ya | |
| Beware of the punisher | |
| Then I' m a kill ' em again | |
| Wake ' em up kill ' em again |
| Kill him again | |
| Try to identify the man in front of ya | |
| But it ain' t the role, the gear or the money, the | |
| Swift intellectionist with plenty ya | |
| Bite, if it' s dark | |
| I' ll spark every one of ya | |
| I throw a mic in the crowd it' s a question | |
| I got the answer it includes directions | |
| Go manufacture a mask show me after | |
| A glass of a master that has to make musical massacre | |
| Attack your wack ' till it' s handicapped | |
| You' ll never hold the mic again, try to hand it back' | |
| Cuz every rapper that comes | |
| I cut off his thumbs | |
| Put a record to his neck if he swallows it hums | |
| Slice from ear to ear so till can hear better | |
| Before he bleed to death here, hear every letter | |
| And you can see quick and thick the blood can get | |
| If you try to change the style or the subject | |
| As I get deep in the rhyme | |
| I' m becomin' a | |
| Emcee murderer before | |
| I' m done, | |
| I' m aPrepare the chamber the torture' s comin' up | |
| Trip through the mind at the end you' ll find | |
| It' s the punisher | |
| Kill ' em again | |
| I hold the mic as hostage, emcees are ransom | |
| Rhymes' ll punish ' em ' cuz they don' t undertsand ' em | |
| I heat up his brain, then explain then | |
| I hand him | |
| A redhot microphone that' s how | |
| I planned ' em | |
| Rhymes call information unite midnight | |
| Like a platoon putting bullet wounds in the mic | |
| If ya curse me, it ain' t no mercy | |
| Give him a autopsy, killed by a verse of me | |
| I took a kid and cut off his eyelid | |
| Kill him slow so he could see what | |
| I didAnd if he don' t understand what | |
| I saidI' m pushing his eyeballs way to the back of his head | |
| So he can see what he' s getting into | |
| A part of the mind that he never been through | |
| A journey is coming ' cuz ya getting sent to | |
| A place harder to find but it' s all in the mental | |
| I ran a brain scan to locate his game plan | |
| When I' m through with his brain he ain' t the same, man | |
| Did he lose his mind or lost in his mind | |
| But this ain' t the lost and found because ya can' t find | |
| Your foundation coasting, your mind is | |
| Drifting, in slow motion frozen | |
| Looks like another murder at the | |
| Mardi grass, | |
| BToo late to send out a search party | |
| Once ya out of ya head then ya can' t get back | |
| I give ' em a map, but he still get trapped, so | |
| Prepare the chamber, the torture' s coming up | |
| Trip through the mind, at the end you' ll find it' s the punisher | |
| Kill ' em again | |
| Dangerous rhymes performed like surgery | |
| Cuts so deep you' ll be bleeding burgundy | |
| My intellect wrecks and disconnects your cerebral cortex | |
| Your cerebellum is next | |
| Your conscience becomes subconscious | |
| Soon your response is nonsense | |
| The last words are blurred mumbled then slurred | |
| Then your verbs are no longer heard | |
| You get your lung fried so good you' re tonguetied | |
| He couldn' t swing or hang so he hung ' till he died | |
| Reincarnate him and kill him again again and again gain and again | |
| I leave him in the mausoleum so you can see him | |
| I got a dead | |
| M Cing museum | |
| When I create ' em, | |
| I cremate ' em and complicate ' em | |
| You can' t save ' em there' s no ultamatum | |
| Mic' s lay around full of ashes with the victim' s name in slashes | |
| Got a long list and | |
| I' m a get every one of ya | |
| Beware of the punisher | |
| Then I' m a kill ' em again | |
| Wake ' em up kill ' em again |
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