Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Rap Rushmore , by - Capone-N-Noreaga. Release date: 09.06.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Rap Rushmore |
| We on top of the world |
| On top of the game |
| Yo, Yo |
| I turn it up like the stove on |
| In Miami Marvin' out with whole bomb |
| I got fiends that been waiting for a whole month |
| Niggas still tryna sell them what they don’t want |
| I run around higher than the age rate |
| Big 9s on my side never aim straight |
| 100 grams but it’s looking more like 6 |
| 5 rounds with the champion the fight’s fixed |
| 4 EPs dropping in the same year |
| 3 Clubs a night, Henny in the same year |
| 2 Hoes a town when we on a world tour |
| Everyday been the same since ‘04 |
| Money, money, money, money, money, money, credit |
| Getting too much of it now we burn it up or shred it |
| Spend it in the strip club or may then we bet it |
| Top of the game now I wonder where we headed |
| This is New York, guerilla rhymes |
| Stop signs, killer crimes |
| Old niggas reminisce, dream bout the benefits |
| Talk about they day when they was doin they shit |
| Hand to hand fights all day we just spray shit |
| Nowadays they do a crime on Vine |
| Record they own self, evidence for one-time |
| The reason you got caught with your work |
| Because you was on Instagram with the same damn shirt |
| I don’t like niggas checking ma phone |
| I got dick pics that I send to dick chicks |
| Chicks drink cum like a mystic |
| Exquisite |
| I ain’t going trip shit |
| I just rip shit |
| Stripper bowl, tip shit |
| I used to have a chick named Monica |
| All she wanted do is run drills with Veronica |
| Always had something in her mouth, thermometer |
| Fuck it, a 100 miles per hour |
| I been one to have these new niggas under my left arm |
| Flow game weak like they balls is stepped on |
| Duffle gang niggas get hogtied |
| Paper never passing me by like the far side |
| You can either get a soft 9 or a hard 5 |
| Play your cards right you be like Diamond, those large piles |
| Ball for ball, I’m a prison dawg you a halfway house |
| Pump with the smoking nigga pull an ashtray out |
| Since 96 been a bull in the game like Hinrich |
| They fighting in the lab im in the streets with 9 bricks |
| Still puttin in work all I need is a hard hat |
| I’m flying in a new G5 on the tarmac |
| Every time you see me in the street know I’m walking with the heat |
| I ain’t talking Lebrons on my feet |
| Fucking with made men, there’s dons on the beat |
| Give me whatever promise and be gone in a week |
| I’m rising up the in line |
| With rhyming but |
| Lining up the father of rhyme |
| Punk if you try to front |
| I give em some bullshit |
| I’m talking the years Michael one |
| Numbers don’t lie it’s clear I’m not the one |
| Peep the structure I’m built different I bought a house |
| So field niggas can chill in it |
| My realism is rare |
| If you don’t feel me deal with it |
| I’m so focused on winning I don’t know what failure is |
| Not acceptable I acknowledge the big picture |
| My arts impeccable even my arms immeasurable |
| Dope schemes, short range, ply for revenue |
| Dollars reign supreme don’t bow to ineptitude |
| I’m a very lyrical unique individual |
| Livin' free ever since I cut the beat’s umbilical |
| Visual, but niggas can’t see me |
| I’ve been the truth, no lie |
| Killin cause i’m playing by different rules |
| Yo NORE should I hold back cause |
| Some of these suckas in the crowd wanna hear |
| We got gas to get that strip, moving a fast lip |
| Before rap my name was ringing in the projects |