Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Inteview, artist - Artifacts. Album song That's Them, in the genre Иностранный рокDate of issue: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Big Beat
Song language: English
The Inteview |
| My characteristics be mystic, you ask who is it |
| Doin' it, with the next type of techs runnin' through it |
| The bullshit, I mean, rap style clean |
| While I lean my six foot frame, Tame’s the other being |
| Seein' that niggas whack, time to take it back to basics |
| Like Saucony sneakers or a pair of Asics |
| Don’t hate this analyst, hip-hop activist |
| Battle technician who be on a mission, now listen |
| Tame One got more grip than Gore-Tex |
| I’m comin' through your set like CBS |
| Writin' my name up in your projects |
| Who wanna test me when I’m tested? |
| Pushin' the paragraph like it’s a Lexus |
| I come off hot like Texas |
| My West district predicts that I’m the shit |
| So I walk through the bricks and shoot the GIF like it’s a full fifth |
| I bring the ruckus fillin' dutches with dust |
| I spread love like Take 6 until the whole spliff bust |
| We wish to diminish MC frauds who need to check |
| Into a rap clinic, thinkin' that they all in it |
| My message to those is right down to the core |
| Kick your best MC and all his niggas through the door |
| 3-point offense, defense level high |
| Stamina a hundred, leave your team ass dry |
| It’s still our nature to hate ya play you out like Las Vegas |
| 'Cause my crew’s got more game than 16 Segas |
| With adapters, battlin' whack rappers and actors for all their stacks |
| And keepin' my family fucked up like the Jacksons |
| Yo, you couldn’t find my dab if you tried to use a map |
| Or instructions, the number ones sold guns be bustin' so |
| Best to recognize, eyes is on the prize |
| Watchin' for spies who wanna piece of the lyrical pie |
| Crews be flippin' like they really wanna die |
| But when I ease up, they freeze and can’t look me in the eye |
| I got folders on the jokers who talk trash |
| They never walk past 'cause I be checkin' for they hall pass |
| Haul ass and let me shine like glass do |
| When I die make a statue, I get in you like a tattoo |
| I pay homage to all the bombers that I’m fly with |
| Endurin' politics and gettin' paid off of some side shit |
| I push niggas back who lack skills to hold their own |
| Jackin' other brothers' styles way that they can zone |
| Prone to dismantle your insides like Mickey Mantle |
| My form lasts long, like trick candles |
| You see the work of these rhyme experts |
| That hurt niggas in cyphers and make the other states liver |
| Survivors of the fittest light the graph then ASCAP |
| Sen-S-E-I peep the next paragraph |
| In all actual my style’s wilder than a crack spot |
| I’m ill in, usin' the putas you buildin' as my backdrop |
| I paint a picture perfect with a thousand pencils |
| From the back of Continentals, Lincolns, drinkin', thinkin' mental |
| You better look through your girl’s tape collection |
| 'Cause this next subject might have a nigga second guess |
| I wanna do raps and get fat like Apache |
| So I can get nasty and dis a nigga like a taxi |
| My exquisite exhibit has facts in this specific |
| Most niggas boast how they represent and come with it |
| But whose the rudest boys, coolest with poise |
| Artifacts be stickin' them with rhythm poise |
| Is on the biz, Taylor skills like Liz |
| Tryin' to save the culture, vultures wanna run the biz |
| You hear my voice more clear, intact |
| Peep the lyrics, trap my secrets |
| Ill, like the film called 'The Curor' |
| Questions, answers, brothers payin' dues |
| MC’s recognize, so we endin' this interview |