| I take rap to the pinnacle with my cynical interview
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| Forensics magnify the rhymes, none are identical
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| React
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| To the track when it go boom boom bap
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| Bring the Indian rain rap
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| So I can remain
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| In touch
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| You’ll honor the last left, brain rhymer
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| My presence on the mic is water on the rocks in a sauna
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| Huh, lyrical scenery
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| An uninhabited world of greenery
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| And plus my psychic ability enables me to see
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| That you’re not what you seem to be
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| The pro (MO STYLES)
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| Than cliffs
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| On the Grand Canyon
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| When I drop one watch one land where your man’s standin'
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| Might just ram my hand with your teeth
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| But I’m righteous carnivorous
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| Animals bite this
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| I give you a spot to start at
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| Right there
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| Your niggas be like, «You saw that?!»
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| You like, «Where?!»
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| Subconscious brain pain, call it a nightmare
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| Now that I got you seein' the light, STARE
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| Yeah, it’s aimin' dead into your retina
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| Not to threaten' ya but just let me KNOW
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| Is it hot or not?
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| Shoot the shot ya got
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| If not then pop
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| When every nigga rock the spot
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| I got… to get down (boogie)
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| I got… to get down
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| So many fables from labels it’s hard to stay stable
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| But a nigga stay up like seat backs or trey tables
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| Peep that
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| At any lecture that I speak at
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| I’m pitifully ridiculin' weak cats
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| For being ridiculous with the shit ya bust
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| I can tell ya sniffin' dust, tryin' to riff with us
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| Nigga, I bust rhymes like pomegranates
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| Fuck around and run the planet
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| Make the underhanded want to panic
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| I’m the fliest on papyrus
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| Look deep into my iris and try to deny US
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| It’s religion that I rip the rhythm
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| Got all fans wavin' they hands like hypnotism
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| And the weightless hate this
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| When I fuck around and start rippin' off the top like a rapist
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| While you stand by the mic on the wait list (I'm next man, I’m next)
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| Is it hot or not?
|
| Shoot the shot ya got
|
| If not then pop
|
| When every nigga rock the spot
|
| I got… to get down (boogie)
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| I got… to get down
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| When it gets hectic a dope fiend will use a Coca Cola can for a smokin' utensil
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| Like I wrote this rap, with a broken pencil
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| I smokes like a freight train
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| One man with eight brains
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| Punch will make a sadomasochist hate pain
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| Fatal, disastrous
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| Wait till I master this
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| Your glorious
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| Like Plato and? |
| The Audorius?
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| It’s likely we fuck with your psyche
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| Developin' mental mic maneuvers to make these marks like me
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| I be a wonder with words
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| Keep my styles inventive, spinnin' at 33 and 1/3
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| They heard of me in the flats, heard of me in the burbs
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| Studied my etiquette, lyrics embedded in tracks
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| Lookin' for action?
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| Peep the predicate you better get back
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| My format with raps stay ahead of the wack
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| It’s like you’re lost in the Sudan, caught in a sand trap
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| Napalm and anthrax, tell your man, «Stand back»
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| Or I’ll apply the pressure by hand man
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| They can’t stand that
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| My shit EXPLODE, where ever it land at
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| Up to the head
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| A nigga got his own sack
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| Rap vulture, hover where the microphone at
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| Like that
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| Is it hot or not?
|
| Shoot the shot ya got
|
| If not then pop
|
| When every nigga rock the spot
|
| I got… to get down (boogie)
|
| I got… to get down
|
| Outro:
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| You knowwwww. |
| Shit. |
| I see you right there bwoy |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song I Gotta (Get Down) , by - CASUAL. Song from the album He Think He Raw, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп