Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Catch Up, artist - Anilyst. Album song Syllable Sliding Vol. 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 30.10.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Tunecore
Song language: English
Catch Up |
Got goals that I’ll reach |
Tryna' go from a pro to a chief |
You’z a kitten that holds a disease |
The kid is a pitt that just broke off a leash |
Admit that you know that I’m over unique |
You chickens don’t wanna have no kind of beef |
Shit’s so dope call it coke on a beat |
'Lyst on this can you go kinda deep? |
Show that your flow has a soul when it speaks |
Bitch feel the kicks from the soles of my feet |
Diss on this flow you can choke on a D |
Cause' the shit that I spit is so over you weaks |
Medicine blown as I roam overseas |
Let a bitch know I don’t go underneath |
Step in this moment to let it be known that I’ll shred an opponent who want it |
with me |
Spazzing he always seems grinnin' |
And his G’s screaming «We Winnin» |
If you have a dream then believe in it |
Cause it could happen at any minute |
I fought for my art just to land respect |
Balls to the wall could you stand to step? |
To this hard earned passionate path of stress |
Watching your art not manifest |
Thoughts make you start feeling mad depressed |
It starts to get hard just to catch a breath |
When you fall through the darkest and massive depths |
Students in Harvard can’t pass this test |
But this year I’m a new dude |
This here be that new new |
Made it crystal clear what I do to |
These studios that I move through |
It’s, true true that my words are literal |
I don’t claim I’m a killa' but I murder syllables |
I don’t turn for my burner my words are killable |
Why you claiming that you ballin' when you earn a minimal? |
I’m a, real dude but you birds are pitiful |
Claiming that you run the city now you turned a criminal? |
Claiming you was livin' gritty but you birds are typical |
I can roll up on your biggest homie turn him critical |
I’ma, hold back on my sinning to just slit him |
I’d rather do it like a menace with a pen to offend um' |
I got the rhythm within him and if he grins I’mma get um' |
I bet you never seen nobody spit it sick as my venom |
And I’m a, real brotha' that promoted his own name |
I’m no lame never see me fucking with' no chain |
I’m dope mayn' you would think I’m fuckin' with cocaine |
There’s no pain see me leave a brotha with no brain |
Make music that’ll cater to the felons |
The one’s cravin' just to put a crater through your melon |
Say you’re gettin' paper but you earned your wager telling |
It’s amazin' how these fakers even sellin' |
Sitting in my chamber feeling angered while I’m vaporizer smellin' |
High as hell and it just feels like I’m propelling |
Yelling at a preacher never that but I’ve been preaching what I’m yelling |
I’m that teacher that will beat you till your features ain’t appealin' |
(I) listen through the drama, Mr. New Obama |
So much money that they call my bank the institute of commas |
A hit or two of ganja, got me in the mood to wanna, rhyme the sickest lines |
Strong enough to victimize ya momma |
Hypnotized by the way I spit the rhymes I’ma, grip a 9 with a k just in my honor |
You ain’t never heard a rapper say the rhymes finer |
I’m flyer than the wings on the side of a side winder |