Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song I Am That, artist - Freak Tha MonstaAlbum song The Black Lodge, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 29.06.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Dirty Version
Song language: English
I Am That |
This shit is light work! |
It’s time to stack the bar on 'em |
You know |
Hey yo, Kwest talk to 'em |
Come on |
You’re lightweight, and only force me to cause casualties |
Call me the specialist, professor at this rap science |
Vocal streetsweeper, buck shots through the speakers |
You’re searching for signs of the end, well I am that |
You’re light weight, it only force me to cause casualties |
Call me the specialist, professor at this rap science |
My city never sleeps |
You’re searching for signs of the end, well I am that |
Peep the way we play it |
Y’all start, we finish |
Car bombing, no Guinness |
Then we go about our business |
Yapping like you acting wild |
The goonies hanging out the back Denal' |
Will pat you down and leave you au naturale |
Shoulda known by now that we wreck it |
Cool, calm, collected |
Till y’all disrespect it |
Temperament of like an ill rotti |
Strictly for the thrill |
I’ll probably leave a chilled body |
Lifted off my skills |
Oddly enough, they’re fronting like their pockets’ll bust |
And that a homi’s nothing 'til they’re |
Getting robbed for their bucks |
Could give a frruck about your knolly |
Of that molly and puff |
Stop with the fuss |
Come on, your shitty topics get flushed |
Between the lines is where we live |
Them evil kids are on the eve of sneaking in |
And tweaking off the leaf and gin |
Another move and dude, it’s checkmate |
So let me set the rec straight |
Or catch some fucking holes up in your chest plate |
I’m the artful dodger, villain and rogue scholar |
Rappers trying to pose like Vogue should not bother |
The author, poet and father of King Arthur |
The archer, harder at work than a Amish farmer |
The farther, the further the earth and the sun circle |
A ceiling inside a circular ship, the soul burglar |
Bird in the hand |
Drive-by music for fans |
Only a few will understand |
If you get it, you’re the man |
Ap’s highly in demand |
My brain scans set off red flags |
Like rape vans at lemonade stands |
I just bought a pair of Ray Bans |
For like eight-grand |
'Cause I’m Cyclopse |
My eyes turn towns to wastelands |
Y’all are fragile, trying to shake hands with an ape man |
Take damage |
Metacarpals wrapped in an Ace bandage |
I’m the Bermuda Triangle where planes vanish |
I paint canvases with strange, deranged antics |
I walk a rugged path |
Rittled with skeletons and tons of ash |
My ears polluted with this music 'bout your lumps of cash |
These thoughts of bloody baths |
Will pass, so I just shrug and laugh |
And grab the pad and script some shit |
To makes you jump and spaz |
Enough’s enough we out the rough |
Swinging them blades of justice |
Coming directly for your neck |
And yes, I shaved the cuspids |
Engrave the muskets |
So y’all suckers really get the point |
And spark the revolution before you can lift the joint |
My words and actions |
Swerving past you, over top your head |
We out for props and cred |
It’s what gets done, and not what’s said |
Shit, treat your facial like some rare wax |
Scuff the Air Max |
Will get you blown just like an air sax |
Face the facts or catch a rude awakening |
My crew’s basically breaking in your favorite station |
So my tapes could spin |
Spitting in the face of sin 'til we’re dead and gone |
Repping the F dot click, so get your letters on |