Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Attention Deficit Disorder, artist - Apathy. Date of issue: 09.06.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Attention Deficit Disorder |
| I don’t waste energy on my enemies |
| Much worse when a motherfucker dead to me |
| Trynna bite it would take you a century |
| 'Cause essentially… |
| I’m detonating a bomb on the original formula I created |
| Rappers that go after my rap are evaporated |
| Captain of the ship and he should be decapitated |
| Captured and trapped in a cabin and castrated |
| I never took a strangers' candy and I never made a hater family |
| And I never gave away the fancy top secret plan we |
| Get money without never ever needin' a Plan B |
| Ask Celph this is all organic |
| Keep calm, no need for panic |
| Just playing you should all be frantic |
| Trynna find a spaceship just to flee the planet |
| Pop shots at the ship as it takes of |
| Ricochets through the shields, shoot your face off |
| Motherfucker never stop the beat, or interrupt my rap, or try to turn my tape |
| off |
| Y’all trynna sound smart when you sound more shallow than water inside of a tub |
| Ap’s shit so deep that the pressure when you dive implodes every side of a sub |
| We starve |
| Look at one another short of breath |
| Walking proudly in our winter coats |
| Wearing smells from lavatories |
| Facing a dying nation |
| (Of m…) |
| I don’t ever pay attention, never stay on topic |
| I got ADD bitch, if it ain’t about profit |
| I don’t ever pay attention, never stay on topic |
| I got ADD bitch, if it ain’t about profit |
| Not Mohammed, the kind that go in your pocket |
| And no one can stop it, I’m a Soviet rocket |
| A giant on the mic, so it’s microscopic |
| There’s clues in the rap, so the cops’ll cop it |
| Trynna solve the murder of the beat when I chop it |
| Put it in a woodschipper, flip it and rock it |
| Smack it up, and hack it up, and kill it with axes |
| The skill that I practice, will fill up the caskets |
| With half-ass rappers, who blew their gaskets |
| Fuck what’s hot, I’m about the classics |
| I used to have an Audi but I crashed it |
| Now I got a Beemer and it’s so fantastic |
| Used to be broke but with a hand me down jacket |
| Now I’m on the yacht with a new tennis racket |
| Maybe I went too far, but I got a nice crib and I got a fly car |
| And I’m not a millionaire, but I still live large |
| And I chill with stars, 'cause I’m ill with bars |
| When my daughter grow up, I’ll retire on Mars |
| With the hearts of MCs that I’ve sealed in jars (trophies) |
| Displayed on the mantle |
| Some shit I write’s too much for them to handle |
| So I put the pen down, blow out the candle, goodnight |
| Take 'em out with the sample |
| We starve |
| Look at one another short of breath |
| Walking proudly in our winter coats |
| Wearing smells from lavatories |
| Facing a dying nation |
| Of moving paper fantasies |
| (Lis…) |
| «…the family began to hear very strange raps at night and they looked all |
| over the house but couldn’t find the source of these raps…» |