| I’m chokin players like I’m Bob Knight, choke the coaches like I’m Sprewell
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| They bowin to the 'Sayers till they knees swell
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| I shake the game up worse than Single White Females
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| Walkin to they car alone flashin three bills
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| These little kids are talkin 'bout how little I know
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| Boy, I grab a mic and rock you like you’re Triple 5 Soul
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| With a civilized flow, but if you say my name I’m like Beetlejuice
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| Dice you up and slap you till your teeth are loose
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| I’ve seen the noose and will not get lynched by the industry
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| Nor will I have a A&R pimpin me stickin his thing in me
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| I’d sing for free for some years if it’s clear to me
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| That if I’m there for my team they’re there for me
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| For real, I be diligently killin the soliloquies
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| Of these millipedes that try to pass themselves off as ill MC’s
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| I weave a web of words so intricately
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| That the English dictionary lacks an adjective to fit me
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| If he want my album tell him not to fuck with ATAK
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| He was hatin and Slug told the bitch to send my tapes back
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| And if I lose my voice then instead of sayin raps
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| I start paintin facts on the wall with hot Crayola crayon wax
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| You’re now rockin with the champion
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| You know you’re in a war that can’t be won
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| You need to stop and understand me, son
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| Cause I got a pocket full and I can hand you some
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| I wasn’t lyin 'bout them muthafuckin hairy hands
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| Well how you think I tear a man till he can barely stand?
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| I share the land with hustlers hollerin my chorus back
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| I’ll do anything for the cats that show support like that
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| When I battle they hold my back, y’all most be smokin crack
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| Eyes are screamin, «I ain’t supposed to rap,» come on, you know you’re wack
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| These Minnesota cats touch down in places where it’s dormant at
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| Bring they muthafuckin trophies back
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| I’m like big up my man Optimus Prime
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| I’m like what the fuck do rappers got in they mind?
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| I might jump on the stage and start hollerin rhymes
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| Maybe bend your back around and make you swallow your spine
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| Cause it’s clear you ain’t seen no one this tight in years
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| When I sing I can bring Brian McKnight to tears
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| I have to consume, Ali capture a room
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| And before my son was born I made him dance in the womb
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| MC’s put up your titles, I be grabbin em soon
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| Them faggots are doomed, worse than breathing hazardous fumes
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| Like (* heavy breathing *) (There it is)
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| Yes, now let the magic resume, biatch! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Champion , by - Brother Ali. Song from the album Shadows On The Sun, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп