| Swat these Gods out the sky like flies
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| And roll deeper than graves upon my USS Enterprise
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| I’m on the corner of the map
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| These legends will never die
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| Treat Los Angeles like international waters
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| Call me Baby Momma cos I birthed your style
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| So where’s the alimony
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| I hope that’s what you’re about to show me
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| Me with my lightbulbs and you with your coconuts
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| Stayin' open across the dome of soaking the bud
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| Ayo the ox stone, chopped limbs, top spending network
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| Guillotine knock off heads, make your chest hurt
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| Test the squirt gun, you’re wet like spilt milk
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| Don’t cry to, my eye in alignment
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| Your face on the triangle, Jungle
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| Squad put mobs in rectangles
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| They rapper bodangles
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| Black face stack cake for the catalogue
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| You shit on the grass in a shack pushing cattle cars
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| Black mags pull up the pig, lookout
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| Shots through the lookout
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| Glocks roll, flocks south
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| While hundred sick and now street huntin'
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| Goodwill’s LA, hood meals, liquor stores
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| All we want is guns and drugs
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| All they want is guns and drugs
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| Feel more green
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| Trying to feel more green
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| Close your eyes and envision
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| We coincide with the rhythm
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| Despised by a critic, immortalised by the listener
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| Probably diminished, couldn’t survive in the system
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| Where real wives men flourish and fools die there trippin'
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| Newport shorts smoke in the city breeze
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| I never hit Four Loko and shitty trees
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| The mic feel like a knife steel, gritty steeze
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| Catch a slight chill tryin' ice grill Mr. Freeze
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| I’m nice still like a nice pill, drift with ease
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| The finest piff to accompany the epiphanies
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| A lil jerk copped the purp on his payday
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| Take a hit let the piff surf on his brainwave
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| I rhyme with divine enchantment
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| Cyborg mind enhancement
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| Pandemic sized disaster
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| I shake up your faith, please revive your pastor
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| And dynamite light beaming blinding task force
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| Blaq, Blaq
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| You not a cat, you a mouse
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| You a bird in a house
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| Get your sheet wet, smoking shipwreck in your home
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| Call the hoes, go for broke
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| Coastin' it now
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| Spend your whole pig piles round the roast stick pile
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| If the eye, now the whole thing highbrow
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| 'Til it run outta gas
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| It’s high high all the way to the class
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| Make a quick stop at the ATM
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| Make a Benz drop out of first class
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| Hop out that plane, make that vertigo dash
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| It’s like our competition is learning to crash
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| I’m makin' a meal then I’m burning the cash
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| It’s all about sending message
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| There’s not a whole lot of us left that’s going back to the essence
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| Three kings, golden incense
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| Fuck the peasants
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| Fuck your presence
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| Call me the indefinite crooks
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| These psalms are Horcruxes
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| Brains on crutches
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| I clutch the mic, enticing these ears like Dick Butkus
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| Rip 'em to shreds, with horse heads in the beds
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| Optimism is the definition of misled
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| You won’t believe my meat is run this red
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| It’s Jaylib philosophy
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| And Stones Throw shit is a part of me to the point of ungodly
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| But I’ve been a god since junior high, pinching asses and bumpin' that Young
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| Gotti
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| Flow as molasses, cuttin' crop like tractors
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| Write my fuckin' squad’s name at the top of that bracket
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| Blaq Russian, turnin' these other crews Prussian
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| Crush 'em
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| My boys’ll turn somethin' into nothin'
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| Blaq Russian, turnin' other crews Prussian
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| Crush 'em
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| My boys’ll turn something into nothin' |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Blaq Prussian , by - Jonwayne. Song from the album Cassette on Vinyl, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп