Soundtrack To My Thought Process 歌词
| 歌曲 | Soundtrack To My Thought Process |
| 歌手 | Opio |
| 专辑 | Triangulation Station |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Opio | |
| My nigga P. Cubano, hail from Santiago | |
| He said pass me that bottle of rum, we make mojitos | |
| And puff some Monte Cristos while we listen to James Brown | |
| "King Heroin" pumpin out the JVC now | |
| As I sip my drink, begin to think about where I'm at | |
| Tip the ashes off my cigar, and start to trip on trap | |
| Doors that await me, but lately, my Spidey Sense | |
| Been tinglin, fingerin out the snakes | |
| See I move with experience, choose and select | |
| Smoke with no filter, hickeys on my neck | |
| Scratches on my back from rough sex but what's next | |
| Goin through my cycles of 7 I retrospect | |
| Remember when it first hit me, me Phest' and Kenny | |
| Pushin down Ocean Boulevard in a renty | |
| Ha ha, it's a brand new year, hear me? | |
| And I'm about to get mine the harder way | |
| Penny for my thoughts you crazy, I'm the author that illustrate | |
| Heart attack with pen and pape, can't escape | |
| Might I be the greater innovator of the rhyme scheme | |
| My mindstate like a lighthouse in the fog | |
| Beamin - slicin through the haze | |
| While I'm puffin on purple, I circumvent the maze | |
| They premeditate like a rat in a cage | |
| I'm like Sly Stone, Cobra, my hands on the gauge | |
| Blastin off stage in a haphazard way | |
| But still hit the fat bastard with accura-cy | |
| Sayin why oh why did I need cappucino | |
| He ran up in the Starbucks with a gat in his pea coat | |
| Havin flashbacks of seminary back in the East | |
| O got robbed workin Baskin Robbins 15 years old | |
| He told me reach for the sky | |
| Now inside my palm lies the cosmos, the omniscient prognosis | |
| That I'm strong encodin peyote poetry | |
| Ain't Jodeci, O to Z, oversee | |
| Overstand, this ain't corporate sized, just more precise | |
| And go blaow like the discharge from a 45 | |
| [Chorus] | |
| Everytime I touch this mic you know I put my heart into it | |
| Formulatin orchestrate record and make the art of music | |
| Populations occupations 'cross the nation God forsaken | |
| Pop my tape in watch me elevate with this new shit | |
| Words of wisdom in the kitchen cookin up this energy | |
| Wolfgang Cluck can't **** with my recipe | |
| Heard your engine burstin pistons plus you got a slow leak | |
| "Third Eye Vision" premonition, better listen closely | |
| [repeat to fade] | |
| Who is he.. could it be O-Blinzy |
| zuo qu : Opio | |
| My nigga P. Cubano, hail from Santiago | |
| He said pass me that bottle of rum, we make mojitos | |
| And puff some Monte Cristos while we listen to James Brown | |
| " King Heroin" pumpin out the JVC now | |
| As I sip my drink, begin to think about where I' m at | |
| Tip the ashes off my cigar, and start to trip on trap | |
| Doors that await me, but lately, my Spidey Sense | |
| Been tinglin, fingerin out the snakes | |
| See I move with experience, choose and select | |
| Smoke with no filter, hickeys on my neck | |
| Scratches on my back from rough sex but what' s next | |
| Goin through my cycles of 7 I retrospect | |
| Remember when it first hit me, me Phest' and Kenny | |
| Pushin down Ocean Boulevard in a renty | |
| Ha ha, it' s a brand new year, hear me? | |
| And I' m about to get mine the harder way | |
| Penny for my thoughts you crazy, I' m the author that illustrate | |
| Heart attack with pen and pape, can' t escape | |
| Might I be the greater innovator of the rhyme scheme | |
| My mindstate like a lighthouse in the fog | |
| Beamin slicin through the haze | |
| While I' m puffin on purple, I circumvent the maze | |
| They premeditate like a rat in a cage | |
| I' m like Sly Stone, Cobra, my hands on the gauge | |
| Blastin off stage in a haphazard way | |
| But still hit the fat bastard with accuracy | |
| Sayin why oh why did I need cappucino | |
| He ran up in the Starbucks with a gat in his pea coat | |
| Havin flashbacks of seminary back in the East | |
| O got robbed workin Baskin Robbins 15 years old | |
| He told me reach for the sky | |
| Now inside my palm lies the cosmos, the omniscient prognosis | |
| That I' m strong encodin peyote poetry | |
| Ain' t Jodeci, O to Z, oversee | |
| Overstand, this ain' t corporate sized, just more precise | |
| And go blaow like the discharge from a 45 | |
| Chorus | |
| Everytime I touch this mic you know I put my heart into it | |
| Formulatin orchestrate record and make the art of music | |
| Populations occupations ' cross the nation God forsaken | |
| Pop my tape in watch me elevate with this new shit | |
| Words of wisdom in the kitchen cookin up this energy | |
| Wolfgang Cluck can' t with my recipe | |
| Heard your engine burstin pistons plus you got a slow leak | |
| " Third Eye Vision" premonition, better listen closely | |
| repeat to fade | |
| Who is he.. could it be OBlinzy |
| zuò qǔ : Opio | |
| My nigga P. Cubano, hail from Santiago | |
| He said pass me that bottle of rum, we make mojitos | |
| And puff some Monte Cristos while we listen to James Brown | |
| " King Heroin" pumpin out the JVC now | |
| As I sip my drink, begin to think about where I' m at | |
| Tip the ashes off my cigar, and start to trip on trap | |
| Doors that await me, but lately, my Spidey Sense | |
| Been tinglin, fingerin out the snakes | |
| See I move with experience, choose and select | |
| Smoke with no filter, hickeys on my neck | |
| Scratches on my back from rough sex but what' s next | |
| Goin through my cycles of 7 I retrospect | |
| Remember when it first hit me, me Phest' and Kenny | |
| Pushin down Ocean Boulevard in a renty | |
| Ha ha, it' s a brand new year, hear me? | |
| And I' m about to get mine the harder way | |
| Penny for my thoughts you crazy, I' m the author that illustrate | |
| Heart attack with pen and pape, can' t escape | |
| Might I be the greater innovator of the rhyme scheme | |
| My mindstate like a lighthouse in the fog | |
| Beamin slicin through the haze | |
| While I' m puffin on purple, I circumvent the maze | |
| They premeditate like a rat in a cage | |
| I' m like Sly Stone, Cobra, my hands on the gauge | |
| Blastin off stage in a haphazard way | |
| But still hit the fat bastard with accuracy | |
| Sayin why oh why did I need cappucino | |
| He ran up in the Starbucks with a gat in his pea coat | |
| Havin flashbacks of seminary back in the East | |
| O got robbed workin Baskin Robbins 15 years old | |
| He told me reach for the sky | |
| Now inside my palm lies the cosmos, the omniscient prognosis | |
| That I' m strong encodin peyote poetry | |
| Ain' t Jodeci, O to Z, oversee | |
| Overstand, this ain' t corporate sized, just more precise | |
| And go blaow like the discharge from a 45 | |
| Chorus | |
| Everytime I touch this mic you know I put my heart into it | |
| Formulatin orchestrate record and make the art of music | |
| Populations occupations ' cross the nation God forsaken | |
| Pop my tape in watch me elevate with this new shit | |
| Words of wisdom in the kitchen cookin up this energy | |
| Wolfgang Cluck can' t with my recipe | |
| Heard your engine burstin pistons plus you got a slow leak | |
| " Third Eye Vision" premonition, better listen closely | |
| repeat to fade | |
| Who is he.. could it be OBlinzy |
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