Lyrics The 45 Killer - Apathy

The 45 Killer

«Check it
Loop a funky 45, and I’ll wreck it»
The radio ain’t a factor to a radioactive rapper
I send your soul shooting through the sky like the rapture
I can put racks on the facts that y’all are wacker
The facts are I’m faster than Bruce Lee’s master
I’ll mash ya, I’m massive, disastrous massacre
I’m sorry there just ain’t another cracker of my caliber
Excalibur, I’m Merlin with evil spells swirling
Inside a boiling cauldron, use caution cause I’m hurling
Stones and rocks, and homes and yachts, telephone poles and blocks
With strength of a hurricane that drops a gazillion megawatts of electrical
shots
I’m so exceptional, the skeptical just shut up and watch
Y’all are fronting like your bosses, your business is all week
You little dudes are way more Walmart than Wall Street
The all-seeing eye, seventh letter, whatever you call 'em
The 33 vertebrae inside of your spinal column
Shoot a million future Messiahs inside of a condom
And shoot a million more at the bottom of hoes when I drop 'em
To their knees, like followers dropped at the feet of Christ
Need advice, drop the mic, it’ll probably save your life
Take a hike, we ain’t alike, it’s serious day and night
Put me in front of a shark and expect them not to bite
Brighten up, y’all emotional bitches should lighten up
Motherfuckers get gassed, so naturally I light 'em up
«Check it
Loop a funky 45, and I’ll wreck it»
«I'm not your average MC with the Joe Schmoe flow»
«Check it
Loop a funky 45, and I’ll wreck it»
«Skilled in the trade of that old boom bap»
«Check it
Loop a funky 45, and I’ll wreck it»
«If you don’t know me by now, you’ll never know»
«I can kick a rhyme over ill drum rolls»
«With a kick, snare, kicks and high hat»
I’m a bad man, take an aluminum bat to Batman
And backhand the nurse, then autograph the CAT Scan
No pulse, flat line when Ap rhyme, it’s Halftime
Rappers talk back, get a cracked spine
Only a face that a mother could love
I slap the soul out your body, let it hover above
.45 caliber killer, blood spiller, vanilla apes
Sleep is the cousin of death, so I’m still awake
Facilitate rappers who appear to have a death wish
I’m Hell’s biggest promoter, I’ll throw you on the guest list
Nobody’s schooling me, even rappers that’s cool with me
It’s like they drained the blood from my veins and put jet fuel in me
Your tomfoolery will have you run the jewelry
2 or 3 of your crew will be bringing all of your loot to me
Stupidly rappers assume I only mean musically
Until I beat 'em brutally, I’m fucked up truthfully, yeah
Holy grail sipper, this is the Last Supper
I save a chosen few, and let the mass suffer
Cash lover, ass toucher, Ap’s butter
Slash suckers before I chamber a round and blast fuckers
«45 killer»