Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Iron Mic , by - Add-2Release date: 27.01.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Iron Mic |
| I see this rap shit as easy, I got it down to a science |
| Rock 'em like Goliath my verses is killin' giants |
| This the book of Eli, they pay tons to see it |
| I raised the bar so high Dhalsim couldn’t reach it |
| Yo, the weak leave when they see it, I cc’d it |
| I’m too seasoned, I’m too odd, we ain’t even |
| What I’m writing niggas be bitin' like babies teething |
| Or biting like Eve when she eatin' apples in Eden |
| Yo, restore the madness sure 'nuff, now who the baddest? |
| You crossed the line, you gon' need more then your border passes |
| I ain’t never slacking, never happen |
| You see it in my face until I get more work done than La Toya Jackson |
| I admit it, I should be admitted into a psych ward |
| I’m committed, chlamydia sick as given from five whores |
| Now why he say five? |
| He looney listen to Luniz «I Got 5 On It» at 5 in the morning |
| I murder MCs, leave they mothers mourning |
| Their homies is twisted, liquor pour out for em |
| I bomb niggas with no warning |
| Me and 9th just play Jesse and Walter White |
| We stepping on toes, this shit is like Harlem Nights |
| My rhyme scheme is mean like a dope fiend lean |
| Nigga please, your sixteens are sweeter than pralines |
| I picked the perfect song for the fat lady to sing |
| Teri, Ace and Hakeem this ain’t the same dream |
| Something ain’t adding up when you hear the shit that they say y’all |
| How the hell you a boss, ain’t you got you a day job? |
| Shit I face mobs, I scar faces like Facemob |
| So fix your face you niggas looking like Tate Modern art |
| There’s no equal, on top like a church steeple |
| Momma’s angel was angry listening to the evils |
| Don’t stop the music like Yarbrough & Peoples |
| All eyes on me like 2Pac or a peephole, yo |
| I poke holes into each and all of your plans |
| Shadow box with Peter Pan, punchlines will never land |
| I -- kick it! |
| -- y’all don’t understand |
| Nigga I don’t write rhymes, I write some «Got damn!"s |
| Jamla back, back like we never left |
| 9th gave me a shot I ain’t give the ball back yet |
| See I will break you apart without me breaking a sweat |
| Y’all all talk, and ain’t saying shit like the Muppets Chuck |
| There’s no skill for real to the rhymes they write |
| But y’all in love with the hype like a crackhead’s wife |
| See I can give you a clip if you niggas is sound bitin' |
| You wrote that in five minutes? |
| No shit, it sounds like it! |
| But poor me, I’m dope til I OD |
| These rappers you call the future can’t fuck with the old me |
| Shake will tell you the same, Chance’ll tell you the same |
| I was chillin with Common and Nas on the same day |
| And the year before at New York and The Roots on the same stage |
| So I don’t care if you sleep, I’ll just wake you up at your wake |
| Yo, this shit real I been this and I’m still ill |
| I spit some shit that make Michael J Fox sit still |
| See I’m not playing -- all bars, not drinking |
| Straight body -- not planking |
| I shot niggas and I’m not ratin' |
| Add-2 all day, everyday and I’m not changing |
| Nigga |