Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mic-Nificent, artist - Canibus. Date of issue: 31.12.1999
Song language: English
Mic-Nificent |
| Yo, sittin on chrome, sittin on low pro 20 inch firestones |
| Grippin the road with the wickedest flow, 'Bis is a pro |
| I zigzag throughout sly loam |
| Accelerate and decelerate in and out the cones |
| Poisonous poems travel through walkman headphones |
| Into your dome Osteoperosis your bones, |
| Who’s the nicest nigga you know in the year two triple-oh |
| Spit turn to icicles in the mid air and slit your throat |
| Drain your carcass dry rip out your heart bitch |
| I write rhymes using your blood for my ink cartridges |
| Paleoanthropologists, polish the bones |
| of rapper artist after I dip in my hydrochloric waters |
| Canibus, with the seams burstin, perfect |
| Everyday the earth spins I write verses |
| My soul purpose as a verbalist, is to make my words twist |
| and connect like letters when they’re in cursive |
| Chorus: repeat 4X |
| I’ll pray on them, spray on them |
| First nigga to violate I’ll regulate without warning |
| Yo, Yo, I’m faster than leopards running across the vast desert |
| In twenty-two yards per second to catch me to daily delicatessen |
| With thirty minutes to eat’em, forty minutes to digest 'em |
| And fifty minutes for it to pass through my intestines |
| So ask yourself a question — can the Canibus rhyme? |
| Is a fuckin porcupine half swine? |
| No time to make up your mind, you wanna run or die? |
| Clip you while you’re running by, trip you up from behind |
| My rhymes, confuse niggas like somebody try to gang-bang |
| wearin a blue shirt and red pants, |
| throwin up signs with their left hand |
| Standin out on the corner of wetlands |
| with a confederate flag for a headband |
| God dam eggplants, niggas gettin me vexed man |
| Cause I’m surrounded by garbage like Fred Sav |
| and I can’t seem to get away from it I dreamed that I stabbed Leviathan through the stomach, and ate from it In my past life I slayed hundreds, and in the life before that |
| I played trumpets, to warn you that I was comin |
| There’s one billion ways to die, and I already tried |
| nine-hundred million nine hundred and ninety nine |
| When I aim and fire my rhymes, like a hundred cannon balls flying |
| Striking you one at a time, in a parallel line |
| Why the art of emceein is steady dyin |
| That nigga Canibus is still in his prime, bust a rhyme |
| Chorus: repeat 4X |
| I’ll pray on them, spray on them |
| First nigga to violate I’ll regulate without warning |
| Club Dodge, I wrecked that |
| Limelight, cursed that |
| Envy, I murdered that |
| Club SoHo, never heard of that |
| Wetlands, dried it up Cheaters, decided to club, fired up looking for a chicken to tie up Club New York, I heard it’s hot there |
| beats be rocking there |
| Too many niggaz be getting stabbed and shot there |
| Speed, I slowed it down |
| The Tunnel, they hold it down |
| Home of the underground, why they always close it down |
| Century club, the hot shit |
| House of Blues, I rocked it One twelve ATL, that’s the Dirty South bomb shit |
| Synagogue, yeah I be there |
| Caribbean City, roll deep there |
| Lyricist Lounge, they be some real emcees there |
| there there |