Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Microdose, artist - Quelle Chris. Album song Rome, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 02.11.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Backwoodz Studioz
Song language: English
Microdose |
I was born in the year of this country’s last recorded lynching |
My question is who stopped recording? |
The great deceiver, name names, son of the morning, I’m drawn in |
Haunt the logical, salute, spook you out your Yeezy Boosts, fuck that |
How long we gotta wait till karma kick back |
The same old, same old, the root’s not workin', the root’s not workin' |
But I’m still here to tell you so |
Life is for the living |
I’m the solution, I’m the condition, I’m a symptom, I’m a witness |
First instance, seeing my soul above my bed hung suspended |
And I knew I could have left here |
That’s not a bad thing |
Slept on the wet wear, they say the hex here |
Near it by and by, it’s alright |
There be a certain sensitivity |
Niggas cast spells everyday B |
Rip the veil of mystery, wait see, there’s a history |
Twist the leaf, let the bush talk |
Flame shaped pitchfork |
I’m no man of the cloth, when the cannon went off |
Heaviest cross to carry |
They say one of the four horsemen was Iraqi |
The people earn what they deserve |
You are the beast you worship |
I rose up on the third, planetary purge |
Panic prone paralysis, evacuate |
Raining chaos on your Calculus, name a date |
I am not astounded, I am not surprised |
I am not astounded, I am not surprised |
I am not astounded, I am not surprised |
I am not astounded, I am not surprised |
There’s a power in the locks |
Display the top, the cat piece |
Still laughing at the fake woke who told me it wasn’t nappy, enough |
Hand cuffing season is back, cousin |
Watch out for law lovers and keep ya wrists buttered up |
And slick, for the sly and the wicked |
No houses dropped on witches, no blind justice |
I wonder if Steve pondered the fuss over pet rocks and fidget spinners |
House niggas still get field dinners, served |
Ironic like Orenthal James with scurvy |
That win ain’t got from the presence of rock legends you are not worthy |
Darwinian pins destroy and rebuild it’s major key |
So we clearinghouse for the shipping CDs out COD |
Need a break? |
Take a knee |
Need a skank? |
Break a rib |
Word to G-O-D |
Open your leg, set it free |
I hope your mind don’t find it’s way back before you wise and break free |
The road less traveled wasn’t graveled for safety |
So when we move the plans he don’t go tattle to Jakes, please and thanks |
Cracks start to show, bleakest shadow |
I’m from the dirt, Roland Garros that’s rich |
For what it’s worth, gon need both those barrels, kid |
Nextel chirp, my ancestors |
You gon' need more than bows and arrows, you dig? |
That’s my word |
Can’t say anymore, probably said too much |
This an open line, they retroactive with stuff |
But if it was me, I’d probably kill the chief |
Peace, don’t come cheap |
Jacob Zuma at the computer still waters run deep |
The boa blends when he reach for the machine |
Sleight of hand just to rip the pockets out your jeans |
Moms like, 'what the hell happened to those dungarees?' |
…but enough about me |
Your intro’s too long, you ain’t Ghost and Rae |
Charly Windgate in jail, you can’t just up and ride that wave |
It’s like niggas skipped track nine on the purple tape |
Chris like, 'Woods, you overlookin the fact they got beats for days!' |
I had to concede, the beats was indeed flames |
Which only made it more of a shame |