| The fact is I hate rappers as well
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| I’d rather battle myself and fight fire with fire (fire)
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| What I’m sayin' in my song’ll amaze ya
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| What I’m tryna say is you’ll get lost in it, ayy, brah
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| Honestly with the quality we droppin'
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| If you wanna degrade us it’s gotta be a plus
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| I ain’t listenin' to hip-hop these days
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| Everybody just a bunch of hip-hop clichés (true)
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| Go ahead and buy my shit off eBay
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| I’m here to break records like a pissed off DJ (snap)
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| Yeah, I can tell it in your melon
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| You developin' a habit, better gallop into rehab (rehab)
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| Uh, I’m a fellow without manners
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| Not a felon, I’ma Khaled 'em and tell 'em where the keys at (another one)
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| I can smell it, where the weed at?
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| Honestly, homie, yo, I can tell you’re gonna relapse, relax
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| You’re a dope fiend for the codeine
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| You’re a Fat Joe fan, got you yellin' for the lean back
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| Coup de grâce, coup de grâce
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| Anyone can get it, I don’t care who you are (uh-uh)
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| Coup de grâce, coup de grâce
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| I don’t give a fuck who you are
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| I been lookin' around, but I still haven’t found my place
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| That’s why you see me drift off into outer space
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| All you down-to-earth rappers can eat sour grapes
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| Or a sour steak, my whole fuckin' fridge is out of date
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| I rocked up to the studio an hour late (yeah)
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| And snuck in like, «Hey guys, it sounded great»
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| I swear to God, I hear another of you welterweight
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| Rapper’s who sound the same and there’ll be fuckin' hell to pay
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| (Man) I’m feelin' back in my element
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| Like I’m channeling the Devil, writing rap for the hell of it
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| To remind these motherfuckers that I’m actually talented
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| I don’t want to but I have to keep tellin' 'em (what's that)
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| I can pad this verse out with lyrics that are six years old
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| 'Cause I wrote better shit than you when I was six years old (it's true)
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| All you rappers from the new school who just enrolled
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| If you don’t know that I’m the shit then you just been told (bitch)
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| Coup de grâce, coup de grâce
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| Anyone can get it, I don’t care who you are (I don’t though)
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| Yeah, coup de grâce, coup de grâce
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| I don’t give a fuck who you are
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| Yeah
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| You ain’t sicker than this fidgety bitch (nup)
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| Lyckety-Splyt stick to the script and play the role you given (yeah)
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| Thinkin' your shit’s bigger than this, no, it isn’t
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| I’ma put your head in a box, boy, you goin' missin'
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| I got a chicken, I ain’t talkin' 'bout a parma, ayy
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| Pull-out game strong, I ain’t comin' to your party, mate
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| Mad at the buzz, your alarm is late
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| Reverse kanga, this shit is hard to take
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| Look, decided it’s finally time for bravado
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| Line after line after line like a barcode
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| You trash cunts who ain’t worth the work
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| So go and pull yourself together like a circle jerk, motherfuckers
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| Coup de grâce, coup de grâce
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| Anyone can get it, I don’t care who you are (yeah)
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| Coup de grâce, coup de grâce
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| I don’t give a fuck who you are (nope)
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| Man, coup de grâce, coup de grâce
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| Anyone can get it, I don’t care who you are
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| Uh, coup de grâce, coup de grâce
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| I don’t give a fuck who you are
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| Man, I’m doin' shit my own way
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| I’m kicking bubblegum and chewing arse (yeah)
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| Slidin' through your studio inside a Uber car (skrrt)
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| Jumpin' out with two bazookas and a suit of armour
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| Blow apart the booth and puff a doobie, go to Zumba class
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| You ain’t the sickest, you’re a hypochondriac
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| So just loosen up (relax), go get some juice in a chicken noodle cup
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| I got a pandemic flu and I’m pukin' up
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| Blood full of AIDS, the bubonic plague and a case of whooping cough
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| Jumpin' Jupiter, who would ever assumed that the
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| Goofiest kid in school would of grew to be even stupider
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| Screw the tutor, I’m a huffing tube of glue in a cubicle
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| Ate a urinal cake and I think it’s caught on my uvula
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| All I wanted to do was to rap and improve and do better
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| Boostin' up all of my skills, feel like you didn’t get the newsletter
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| Now I just wanna ruin your buzz, I’m a fuckin' mood killer
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| You should evacuate from the place 'cause I’m goin' nuclear
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| So fuck bein' the sharpest tool in the shed, I just grab it
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| And stab your crew with it, who want it? |
| Pshh, I’ll ruin ya’s
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| Takin' your cash cow and I grill it and serve it back to ya
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| There’s some barbecue rap for ya, chew it up, it’s the coup de grâce |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Coup De Gráce , by - 360. Song from the album Vintage Modern, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп