Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 100%, artist - Clear Soul Forces. Album song Fab Five, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 27.04.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Fat Beats
Song language: English
100% |
| Hop in the booth then poof, I turn into Dwight Shrute |
| A white dude with a twenty-five step plan to blow two cubicles from the air |
| chute, to get loose |
| Watching me break them ankles on the court like (Get your bitch ass up) |
| Or I’m stepping over you, huh or I’m stepping on you with two pumps 'bout to |
| jump and use the platform |
| Catapult myself into a storm with nothing else on but my bare arms |
| Dodge a swarm with no protection on I think they call it ninety-seven point |
| from now on |
| But anywizzy, time to get busy, I gets grizzly as free falling to the tallest |
| building in Mejico city |
| Land on the edge with my two pinkies and shimmy shimmy down (diggie down) |
| We be them cynically perverted clowns with a fetish for sending bitch rappers |
| out to drown from the flow of the sound |
| No O’neill life vests or floatie rounds, so how you like me now |
| Handle the microphone on some little light of mine shit, peeping the Jedi mind |
| trick |
| This rap shit’ll spark like a lighter do in the dark, orange amber ended tip |
| flick |
| My ash upon the asphalt and halt a hater right there |
| Homie this three dimensional visual we inhabits not even scratching the depths |
| of this rabbit hole, what up Alice? |
| My damage to wax is reaction to atoms splitting, we crumble the building, |
| chasing pussy niggas out they villages |
| Pardon the dribble drippage, dog we off another bottle we ain’t worried about |
| tomorrow |
| That nigga bender a fucking problem, model after model |
| Pluck they ass right out the garden and pardon my assy grabby |
| That’s just my pursuit of happiness |
| How you gon' tell me I ain’t out of my gourd |
| My style came from reading the Anarchist Cookbook with a chef’s hat on |
| And an apron to keep grenades in, explode my way to greatness on some Michael |
| Bay shit |
| To your playlist, while you analyze the strength of my game and hate on it like |
| Skip Bayless |
| Tell a itch-bay, when I it-spay it’s cold as the Lin Kuei |
| The Sub-Zero linguistics, Shang Tsung from an alternate dimension |
| Giving the soul back to the rap but I’m still killing, abusing |
| They don’t televise revolution so we settle for headphones and soothing the |
| worlds acoustics too creative for 9 to 5's |
| Graduated college they had me using a mop, lines sharper than Sweeney Todd’s |
| So let me give you a shape up, the Razor’s Edge rhymes like |
| Scott Hall in his prime, flicking tooth picks in your eyes nigga |
| Every night I’d dream I never close my eyes I don’t sleep a lot |
| Folgers flows heating up your coffee pots |
| Hour power naps is unorthodox crack your fucking necks to the beat |
| Vertebrates will nod passionately feel passion personified |
| Potential at its pinnacle I hear vocals peaking |
| Sneaking glimpses of the lyrical that all seeing |
| I’m feeling like ten Tom peeping cities on our back, I’m bout to Chiaotzu (Boom) |
| Kamikaze season spirit bomb booth, I got the jihadist soul, with faith I’mma |
| blow too |
| I tell 'em check it y’all, we came to wreck a record y’all |
| Rapping wrecking ball, I bang your mic soon as you hit record |
| Now, now, so how you like me now, now? |
| How you like me now, how you like me now, now? |