| I gotcha back but you’se best to watch your front
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| Cause it’s the brothers that front they be on the hunt
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| They criticize my moves, but copy my steps
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| They wanna be me, but won’t acknowledge my breaths
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| They’ll never come close. |
| no, not in my death
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| I’m ten steps ahead of the shit they plot next
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| Changing the game, audibles
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| Major pain, for those all opposed
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| Slaughter all em, or the most
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| I’m holocaustin all they flows
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| These nigga outta know, if Franc say it belong it quotes
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| Cause everything B Major, I never change up organ notes
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| Slaying all that approaches, hanging 'em all from throats n
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| Lyrically watch em cough and choke, the shit I wrote is potent
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| It’s sorta bogus, I’ll take they coffins and throw it
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| The villin, then get to killin the newbie that feels heroi
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| Ya’ll couldn’t keep up wit the mind of this guy, I
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| Would advise, while you might try, to reside on my side, why?
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| You would hate to be on the wrong team, as that long lead
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| Climbs mighty high, and the 1 with the loss leaves, please
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| First me, no I ain’t new Hova, smooth flower
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| Move over, get moved or get moved over
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| Hold up, I shut it down, work hard and abuse quotas
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| These other niggas ain’t got a shot, they too sober
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| Roll up, I used to pass piff and double ends
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| Then I moved the crack, had me bubbling
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| The Stacks-what-was-comin-in
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| Fire on deck, they would get blasted and come again
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| I just played the block like a bad bitch’s ugly friend
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| And now it’s raps that I’m hustling
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| Feds’ll probably throw me in the bing for the tracks I be smuggling
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| Each bar a ball, 16 two O’s
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| All my grindin niggas do the math, niggas too slow, oh
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| Was known by the fiends, for coke that I re’d
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| In O’s for cheese, never was I known for the keys
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| Or known by the D’s, was smooth I just sold for my needs
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| Got the bills paid, stayed fly and roamed as I please
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| Studio session, shuttin down the dopiest emcees
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| Flow is just mean, not a nigga close in his dreams
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| I keep it real, I don’t fabricate shit
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| While these rappers make everything
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| Like bitches with low self esteem, sheesh
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| My ways leave me in a better state, never break
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| If that fraud shit killed, y’all niggas would never waste
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| Spending cake on these bitches
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| Please, I don’t set up dates
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| I just get these hoes home cheap, me? |
| I’m section 8
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| Ay look, Apathy, it’s sad to see, half of the these
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| Wack emcees, act like they spazzing each track that they rap that trash I be
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| Actually laughing
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| Assassinate em happily, track or battles, ain’t half of me
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| A match for me? |
| I’d have to see
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| You better hope for the best but prepare for the worst
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| So prepare for my verse to come tearing through Earth
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| Like an asteroid, bigger than the moon
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| Black hole, vacuum, robotic, bionic baboon
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| Black mask on my face, raccoon, bank robber steez
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| Slang meth like a message from Mephistopheles
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| My isosceles pyramid contains remains of the pharaohs
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| Marrow and veins, their golden chains, spaceships and thangs
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| Hooks on their nose that’ll extract they brains
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| Better run and hide, motherfuckers get mummified
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| Put out in the sun and dried and over a dozen died
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| Constructing a tomb, met destruction and doom
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| Resurrected in the semen and get sucked in the womb
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| Like a cycle it’s forever it’s the Alpha Omega
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| I’m a warrior, war with me and get scalped for your feather
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| Got a scout on the mountain
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| That sends a signal to thousands of warriors
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| That are shouting louder than coyotes howling
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| Gauging eyes and disemboweling, fountains of blood spouting
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| Denouncing your gods, decapitated head bouncing
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| Douse 'em with gas, I’ll light a match while I’m lounging
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| Upon the couch while you’re crouching
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| Inside the corner just cowering
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| Nothing foul as a stench of the wench serving the ale
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| I’m on a search for the Grail, I’ll leave these serpents impaled
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| My dick inside a pussy resembles the birth of a whale
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| My verse’s land me in jail
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| I’ll sell a verse for the bail
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| I’ll reverse with the tail, spinning while I’m spitting out hail
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| Like I’m Jack Frost, I’ll jack off on your female
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| You better back off or blast off rockets like Soviets
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| Assassinate your bitch ass and all your associates
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| Even the sharks will get shook when Ap’s circling
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| My rap’s perfect, I chop pussies, I’m ax murdering
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| I’m evil as Hitchcock whenever the fifth cocked
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| So faggots trying to say they hip hop better kick rocks
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| I’m bagging up grams so my brother Grams
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| (What other Grams?)
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| Ain’t no other Grams, just a bunch of fucking holograms
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| I gotcha back |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song I Gotcha Back , by - Franc GramsSong from the album The Black Lodge, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп