| Are you ready for a brother with a mouth full of hand-grenades?
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| Watch a brothers tongue serenade
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| With the grace of a razor blade over butter
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| In the middle of a heat wave (peep ways)
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| Got a baby on every part of the city
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| 'Cause I’m street made
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| Did you really want to clash with me?
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| Cause I’mma paint a picture sad to see
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| Like a brother from a rope in an apple tree
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| Did you really believe these abilities couldn’t achieve
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| Filling my pockets with the cheese and the broccoli?
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| (Watch you trippin' on)
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| Some of that shit that be killing off the ozone
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| Mention my clique Now she don’t want to put her clothes on
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| Better recognize who to idolize over tracks
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| Or catch a match to the batch
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| Of the kerosene for the pay back
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| 'Cause the S.W. |
| never play that
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| Eliminate 'em till the moon fade black
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| (Never get sentimental) on an instrumental
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| When it’s complemental to the mental psycho
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| Alpha, disco, quick to split your riddle
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| From the max to the minimal
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| Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?
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| Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?
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| Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?
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| Pump, pump, pump, pump, yeah
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| Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?
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| Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?
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| Pump, pump, pump, pump, whatcha trippin' on?
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| Pump, pump, pump, pump
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| Terminal condition when the mic in position
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| To slit 'em from the solar plexus to the neck up
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| Giving them a hemorrhage with the double concussion
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| Propelling through my nemesis multiple combination in 3D
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| Images split a wig when a fool trip
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| Never mind what your sipping on, what you trippin' on?
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| Is it tricks or the rims on the Brougham
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| Or the way my city get it gritty in your time zone?
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| Monologue got your mind blown
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| Keep you ducking in the bushes when the infrared roam
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| Turn up the volume and watch a poetical prophecy properly
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| Rock the philosophy made for the rap game
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| I paid dues, slayed crews for the rap game
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| Drop flows, got chose for the rap game
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| I’m suicidal off the cliff ready to dive
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| (version 1)
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| What, what, what, come on
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| (version 2)
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| Into the depths of the pyramids where my jewels stay crisp
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| In the tomb with the gods in the form of a monsoon
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| Mind my mind, in a sand dune
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| Psycho, alphabetical, street ministry
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| Question (whatcha trippin' on?)
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| Was it the night we dragged your hommie through the night club
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| Made him fold up when he loc’d up
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| Droppin' heat seekers to his dome
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| Like a hot comb to his dome when he spoke up
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| All adversaries look away when the A to the K O M A C K
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| Get to rippin' through the cable with the wrath of stray a bullet
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| Bet your corner catch a ricochet
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| Propelling parallel with the light speed laid back
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| Like a knock kneed, eye to eye with the enemy
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| While the telepathy proceed to achieve
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| Blowing enemies to a realm in a calm breeze
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| (I shall) rip it till my lungs cease
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| (Proceed) spittin' game in the city streets
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| (And continue) rippin' heads off of robeast
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| Sincerely yours black mack with the khakis creased
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| Whatcha trippin' on? |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Pump , by - Bionic Jive. Song from the album Armageddon Through Your Speakers, in the genre Иностранный рок