Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Can't Take It Anymore , by - Termanology. Release date: 08.12.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Can't Take It Anymore |
| Can’t take it anymore, you better recognize |
| These pupils is cornier than ever so I’m wreckin' eyes |
| Pushin' up on the top spot, it’s Texas size |
| They flow plain and that’s why I won’t let it fly |
| Term on tour out in Europe |
| Schoolin' me on the game, like look at the scoreboard, homie you’re up |
| You’re badder than every batter swingin' out Europe |
| I guess I gotta floss now |
| Every battler get a loss now |
| Got every major city screamin' «Boss Town» |
| Check the news, and respect the views |
| I’m fire, just set the fuse |
| I’m a guillotine, extra sharp |
| Tryna get ahead so you’re next to lose |
| You can’t overlook me, when leagues overbook me |
| Me afraid? |
| Them cats kiddin', I ain’t close to pussy |
| Never showin' fear, so quote it clear |
| Call me Chipper, cause Jones been brave his whole career |
| I can’t take it |
| Damn! |
| I told you I’m in the house with 3 monsters! |
| Straight up! |
| DJ Doo Wop! |
| That’s how we do this right here! |
| Next up, reppin' that Murder Ave Gang! |
| Yeah! |
| Straight out of Brooklyn, New York, we top tier battlin' right here, baby! |
| Ayo Cortez, you ready to catch a body, my dude? |
| Brooklyn what up! |
| Let me talk my shit though! |
| Rims crackin' through the potholes |
| Raised with them |
| Triple beam scale, saran wrap, blindfold |
| Re-up, guapo, this cheese, not yours |
| Inspired by the game, I’m yellin', «Free El Chapo!» |
| I’m street smart, nah I don’t know what your mans think |
| Idiot, should diary: Anne Frank |
| Respect is much more than just a handshake |
| I’m starin' still 'til I can’t break |
| Boss B, off of my hand, but never force me |
| I’m no angel, handin' out wings if niggas cross me |
| I’m grindin' on the wake-up, let it sit by the coffee |
| Revenge bittersweet, that’s why these niggas be salty |
| I’m smokin', gettin' high, started thinkin' dollars |
| And I moved up, 3 O’s and started thinkin' commas |
| Yeah I’m from the zoo, nigga’s packed with them llamas |
| Gotta keep it a buck, I wouldn’t change for Obama |
| Can’t take it |
| Wow, say it though — Cortez goes in, baby! |
| Up next though, brother, |
| reppin' that Lawrence, Mass! |
| Reppin' that ST Squad, what up! |
| Reppin' Show Off |
| and all that! |
| He calls himself the Super MC! |
| Termanology! |
| You ready, playboy?! |
| Bounce on the twin, just bounce on the twin! |
| I’m the greatest, got two lasers like Darth Vader’s |
| 45 with an Inf beam that’s calibrated |
| Give it a little kick, it’ll open your soul |
| And let the vultures pluck the eyeballs out of your skull |
| Fuck a collab, I could get you snuffed on the ave |
| Bucked and then stabbed, pistol whipped and stuffed in a cab |
| You a small guy, spreadin' all them immature lies |
| Make me wanna pull a Joker, stab this pen in your eye |
| I hate you like I hate cops, chase you down for 8 blocks |
| Hit you in the stomach and have you burnin' like straight shots |
| Make me wanna spray shots, snatch ya Rollie, take clocks |
| It’s gettin' out of hand, this time, you know, take it off |
| Run it, the last one you would think of done it |
| Cause you changed over them dollars, couldn’t keep it a hunnit |
| Give me patience, 'fore I pistol whip his fuckin' face in |
| And use the blood for my lil' daughter’s face paintings |
| Damn, slow down Term! |
| The mic is officially dead, rest in peace to the |
| microphone! |
| Tonight I told y’all I was in here with straight monsters! |
| Real emcees, baby, Boston, Mass! |
| Brooklyn, New York! |
| Lawrence, Mass! |
| Y’all was representin' so beautifully tonight! |
| DJ Doo Wop, I’m signin' off |
| right now — I can’t even say nothin' else, man. |
| This is crazy, this the new hip |
| hop! |