| Rock rock y’all it ain’t nothing like this
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| Beats rhymes and life we we own the night like (like what)
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| Bitch get some soul in your life uh, get some soul in your life uh
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| Get the fire started, my beat selection process is equivalent to buying a house
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| we intend to burn to the ground
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| We meditate in arson stealth mode, type in the health code
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| And proof on, with no jewels on, droppin' a new bomb
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| You clip coupons, we save more than Sam’s club
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| Crew of, Sam goodies black hoodies, type of style as you want
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| This ruff and rugged rap, Rastafari hit you with a thunder clap
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| Ilaj, switch the joint nigga boom bap
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| My favourite counteract is counter rap for those who know cardiac
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| The youngest thundercat with rap inception of an Armagnac
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| It’s time for that
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| Puff the local demolition with the tesseract
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| And test your cataract
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| While your kitten lickin' my cul de sac
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| We be duckin' off to the side bubble like cutting peroxides
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| Slappin' radical raps half-hazardly male monotony
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| Coz honestly the industry policy’s blockin' honesty
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| Complete creative robbery sloppily over choppy beats
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| This sound like Hip Hop to me, ATLiens
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| I crash land the planet came to save Homosapiens
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| These nights I’m always in a daze, don’t know what day it is
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| Satur-Tues-Mon-Wed-Thurs-Sunday again
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| Whattup my nigga, racial epithet
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| It’s hell on earth, the block is hot make Satan break a sweat
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| I’m half baked third good on my side
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| I’m said to brawl, cook the game from the inside
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| Infiltrate flows, infinite Trojan horse of sentences
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| The virus please show me where the system is
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| Y’all get it right
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| Uh, it’s me again put a rapper in they cripple across face
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| And the sound of them tappin' out is the BPM
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| Verbal voodoo my musical, the boom bap rituals
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| Tony Stark tellin' Jobs to blast missiles from my cuticles
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| Blowin' and usual, rappers wanna pass it past juveniles
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| Shoot a unit beam through you, you too parkin lots and a Subaru
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| Hyper? |
| rockin' most and jump up to get the power boost
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| I’m steppin' all over your optical’s, feelin vision it’s comical
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| The doctor who, sticked it in stitches, a astronomical
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| Judging my fossil fuels, spark it now escape is impossible
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| Every verse is encoded incursive vivid in techni-colourin
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| All your verses doodled in a doodle brown Crayola
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| Embodied the Ayatollah, spit vibrance with medulla’s in the cut
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| And raw as fuck ever since they snipped the umbilical
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| Fire pencil, utensils produce a product that’s hotter than
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| A habanero vinegar pepper that Peter pickle
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| I deal with real issues, relish it and revoke
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| Classic blast it no cheese no bread and no deal
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| Shit’s real but still flowin' like I’m distilled
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| Purify the holy water, God body thought I told ya
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| Told ya, now we soke her with raps and crazy Profilax
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| In fact when we spit it you need a Nintendo expansion pack coz you be playin'
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| that
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| Female Labrador but I’m half as raw
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| Like my vocal chords and punch like Ganondorf
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| You twice as soft, memory foaming, charming salesmen calling off
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| I rock your jaw and I catapult your brains to make you hold your thought
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| Too old to be a prodigy, too young to be considered the greatest ever
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| I’m probably showin' the world my novelties, them note books
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| Filled to the ceiling with fulfilling the prophesies
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| Ducking and dodging poverty soon to become anomaly, uh
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| This shit is like writing a letter backwards, startin' at the bottom
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| Sincerely yours Noveliss
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| Work my way to the body, embodying each column
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| Stayin' inside the margin still marchin' chasin' that margerine |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Beats, Rhymes & Life, artist - Clear Soul Forces. Album song Gold PP7s, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп