| Put it under the needle and drop it on the one, boy
|
| Your mama say that I be rappin' in my dad voice
|
| Defense mech to protect me from the fuck toys
|
| Joysticks, see me swerve through these asteroids
|
| Life is good, V.G. |
| plus
|
| But, yo, I still got that hunger to hold a box cutter
|
| Let me carve my name in your security blanket
|
| I’m sleepin' on a train on a sweat-stained mattress
|
| I’m not expectin' company, hit the floor
|
| If death comes for me somebody gotta get the door
|
| You might choke on a sucker from the liquor store
|
| We might get so high we don’t exist no more
|
| I’m like smoke, I’m supposed to rise
|
| That’s why you blow both of us towards the sky
|
| So close the blinds and lend me your time
|
| All of your enemies’ll eventually die
|
| Pen game methane, Slug said to gas the shit
|
| Spit flame just to keep the matches lit
|
| They say I’m half insane, the other half immaculate, could you imagine it?
|
| Whatever, I don’t like to shoot 'cause I’m just way too accurate
|
| When they be at you they don’t ever at you, that’s the wackest shit
|
| And ain’t too many bitches that can hang or even match my wits
|
| I mean, I’ve had it up to here, I’m talkin' Atmosphere
|
| 'Cause I don’t even talk to them, they say I’m too cavalier
|
| I’m like your greatest livin' fear when I twist the gears
|
| Gimme props, I ain’t have to drop a bitch in several years
|
| I look at OGs as my only peers
|
| So let me know when you done playin' in the snow, the slopes for real skiers
|
| I’m droppin' real tears from laughin' at you weirdos
|
| Drag you lil'— by your earlobes
|
| Number one stunner, stone cold, below zero
|
| Too dope, I’ma need more than one kilo
|
| Oral Krylon, I spray all my style on
|
| Mind brighter than them orange end zone pylons
|
| Two hands from the zebra man
|
| Instant replay says the play on the field stands
|
| I pack the stands with my stanzas
|
| My stans go bananas, it’s a bona fide bonanza
|
| Word to Jason Alexander
|
| Cus D’Amato of the culture, coulda cussed out Costanza
|
| Fuck Trump and fuck cancer
|
| Fans raise they hands but they ain’t got the answers
|
| No performance enhancers
|
| Six rings, piss clean, I ain’t takin' no chances
|
| Who else could dance with the devil?
|
| Samba with the mamba, Macarena with ya mama
|
| Fuck a double entendre
|
| Put it plain 'til I leave this plane, I’m a problem
|
| Quick witted, sharp tongue, I don’t mince words
|
| Plentiful supply, use strife as my cistern
|
| Take it in stride but describe it uncensored
|
| Wadin' through the pain, love, lies and adventure
|
| Gotta ensure the time spent wisely
|
| Pops' tenure didn’t outlast the Isley’s
|
| Walk soft, big stick and a slight lean
|
| Kept the Nikes clean when nights got unsightly
|
| Last real hitter alive, bitch, I might be
|
| Death swarmin', head forward, kept forgin'
|
| Never fret or let 'em see me sweat when I was left for it
|
| Records reflect what I rep once it get sorted
|
| Duckin' twelve with bench warrants to gettin' bread tourin'
|
| Can you dig it way deeper than the surface shit?
|
| What the true meanin' and the purpose is?
|
| Soul’s fiendin' for half the breathin' we burdened with |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Whenever , by - ATMOSPHERE. Song from the album Whenever, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп