| Yo, yo, fuck a diamond, I used to only hit a pitch off one
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| On home plates, we ball of the base, hit it and run
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| Body heavy metal, bet I only travel on frowning horses
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| Inhale the forest, fled the house of a thousand corpses
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| Housing my name in your mouth, will get you John Booth’ed
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| I let myself out of my jail, cuz I’m the truth
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| Eyes shimmer like brivers, and broken bottles of Smirnoff
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| Succession’s a sound splash from windows, spilling off
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| Stealing bars from a logo, cough death on mocus scars
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| Skin clicks like 18 Bronzemen in the halls
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| The seeds of my cold blood, travel through deep veins
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| Grew up with no hands, arms, a spike, ball & chain
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| The hills have eyes, they saw me escape the hive
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| Keep my blowgun, shirt or your back, until you die
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| Lord squirt cyanide, crack open a winter sky
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| For cash, I need a ski mask and a Rambo knife
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| Hydro clouds, looks out, watch the city rumble
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| From a million hunger pains, and those bees that bumble
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| I’m filled with screams that I can never let slip
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| They say a poet & madman, we all have a bit
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| And fuck ya videos, I only watch channels, not the mainstream
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| My sheet holds cannisters and manuals of daydreams
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| Brita water, filter slaughter, chop the broccoli sloppy
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| My habit’s insane performing an audio-topsy
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| Cotton grown, testosterone, got Glocks for bones
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| Drink a jar of H20, think harsh darts and throw
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| Maybe blow, poison tips, razor tits
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| Sour as lemon sticks, my fetish is wet pussy
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| With splatter patterns, I’m dark like Rouge Park murders on the camera lanterns
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| Sharp as a thorn on a rose from your ex-wife
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| Sly as a sleuth with a slipknot on your windpipe
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| Lick mic stands, I got a weather 'vay, mind bend
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| Laugh is like rubies and dances on the vile winds
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| I live probably like a Mothman prophecy
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| Format like winery, Eliat, be my odyssey
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| We puff crims, and then drink marble from lead pipes
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| Run from daylight like Payton from jakes on grey nights
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| When the blocks hot, I stand with my heart frozen
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| Clap like a thousand books closing
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| And pop loud as a thousand rosaries broken
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| Won’t go in, in the silver clouds of Sativa
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| Word to Solomon, love Shiva down to her amoeba
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| Yo, yo, who in the world could spit it like me
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| Unlikely, sheisty for that mic piece
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| My Clan deep, no white sheets, wife beaters & Nike sneaks
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| Skeetin' divas who treat us like, Black Jesus and feed us
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| To Haitian cleavage, with features that
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| Keep 'em beating they peter’s, we terror predator veterans
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| Trend setters who better when, under pressure
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| Cuz better lines, prime timers like Letterman
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| Get ya shine in a second, yeah, I’mma cop, when I let us in
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| Say you sick with the rhymes, well then I’mma vomit the medicine
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| Bomb atomically, gack over beats like Impeach the President
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| Save the beef for you freaks, it ain’t nothing sweet, and they never been
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| If you keep it at peace, it won’t have to level your residence
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| Better to chill, nigga, take a breather, let us settle in
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| Need the speed of the cheetah, with feet as a big as an elephants
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| Ammo like John Rambo, to stand a chance on my element
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| Handle hammers with elegance, damage the camera’s evidence
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| Ammo that dismantle limbs, where you stand is irrelevant |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Bronzeman, artist - Bronze Nazareth. Album song Bronzestrumentals Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп