Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Golden Cypher, artist - Canibus. Album song Lyrical Law - Disc 1, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 01.08.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
The Golden Cypher |
| Uhh |
| Rap so klepto, any mic I steal |
| Y’all niggaz don’t belong here like Michael Steele |
| at a Republican Party, I go for |
| Leave cum stains on Sarah Palin’s veneers for sure |
| Like I’m in Mordor, tryin to burn the ring up |
| The black semi knock your block off like playin Jenga |
| Have sex with the whole world just by raisin my middle finger |
| But y’all don’t hear me though, (Inga) |
| And just like that I’m back spittin nasty as (Foxy) |
| Then I’ma stop servin y’all like the soup nazi |
| Happy Days, then I’ma spin off like (Joanie Loves Chachi) |
| Burn rubber, the Maserati mach three |
| Screamin mazeltov at my aki |
| (Squad) vomit at Keith Shocklee for the beat made of broccoli |
| Got a Palestinian girl, her pussy the bomb |
| Get it? |
| Blew up, you can’t stop me |
| That’s right, I wreck melody, so much energy |
| Why get on the track if you can’t stand next to me? |
| So much energy it’s a felony |
| Your microphone memory remember me, this is your penalty |
| You can’t keep up mentally, you can’t rhyme intelligently |
| Do it on the track, can’t do it in front of me |
| You frontin, you and your man get all psyched up like it’s Fight Club |
| Times up, you lost, life sucks |
| So does your wife slut, got a nice cunt |
| Last night we wiped white stuff on her butt |
| True power cannot be achieved by fightin over the mic |
| You can’t compete with Canibus, aight?! |
| If your hat’s turned to the back and you rap be prepared to scrap |
| You don’t have to be scared of no strap |
| Cause your mind overstand all that |
| Fall back or no more contact with the Gods of rap |
| Go back to the «Lyrical Law"lab, first of all you trash |
| You can’t add all the rhymes you had |
| Your mouth is a wound and your tongue is a scab |
| This is a concept the young mind doesn’t grasp |
| That old stick in the mud, will put a gold bullet in a gun |
| Show you where red blood comes from |
| But that’s not what you want, you want love |
| Where does that come from? |
| Define that you bum |
| One thing at a time, intertwined as one mind |
| The proto in the prime of one perpetual line |
| No evil one I can divide, no matter the times try |
| No matter the lies that claim otherwise |
| Slumdog drug lord, guns drawn, motherfuck guns laws |
| You catch a big mini-gun gun charge |
| This is «Lyrical Law"not lyrical war |
| This is spiritual God, get your lyrics |
| I’m nice with everything but chopsticks |
| Eyes couldn’t see my style with glasses or binoculars made of optics |
| Stop it, slam it, rappers couldn’t scoop a topic |
| Let alone follow they finger to mock this |
| Caught your hand on my style kid, put it in your pocket |
| If you can’t get it home, what the fuck is the logic? |
| Want my devices, send my boys in to send fire to the ground |
| Hang my flag and brag, who’s the nicest? |
| My Fort Knox, like Bunker Hill, emcees guerrillas |
| Rhymin to go banana, breaks performed by Mad Drill |
| Man chill, your man’ll get killed |
| And when they dump his ass off they gon' find him in a landfill |
| If I have to I will, that’s on the real |
| I’m (Destiny's) only (Child) of the pay, on these girl group «Bills» |
| Word to Arthur Kill, Gun Hill for real |
| Wolf Gang, Murder Mouth, it’s the king of the hill |