Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Insane, 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
Insane |
| The verbal assassin pull out a napkin |
| Wipe the lens off of the Sniper before I blast it |
| Target acquired, click, blaow, hip hop Halo, hit the DJ from the radio in the |
| headphones |
| Put an end to the same five tunes in the afternoon |
| The Molotov monologue, smash a stereo to a fragment with that abstract shit |
| Kicking ass in a Jason Mask, Casey Jones, put down the hockey stick |
| And choke the life out a beat with a cordless microphone |
| The terminology terrorist, explode you to your burial |
| I’m on another plane with a stealth bomb disguised as a boombox for one of my |
| carry on’s |
| The monster just transferred from Transylvania, mastermind, telepathic rap shit |
| Xavier, snapping a rappers ankle, hit you from Kurt Angles to mangle you |
| without lifting a finger |
| Telekinetic mic checking for my boom bap brethren and rock the set list |
| Death to the radio they ain’t playing no jams, no more |
| If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side |
| Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three |
| 3 — 2- 1, ah |
| Death to the radio they ain’t playing no jams, no more |
| If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side |
| Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three |
| 3 — 2- 1, ah |
| Verse 2: E-Fav] |
| Yo, cut my microphone volume way up past blasting |
| I want them people in the rafters to capture what we imagine |
| A potent infectious virus folding up your speaker boxes |
| Hope she soaking up that knowledge while she giving it |
| Old women ex finite, new dames on demand |
| I walk the way I do to expand vocal elastic bands |
| Wrapped every line land blowing minds |
| That futuristic, realer complistic simplex |
| Syllable iller pimp shit, whole flavors word play-a- worm hole a black matter |
| molder |
| I’m a creator, chopping through you fucking haters |
| Got 'em choking off the vapors |
| Slow down baby you fucking with some niggas who flow round crazy |
| Let’s go |
| Death to the radio they ain’t playing no jams, no more |
| If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side |
| Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three |
| 3 — 2- 1, ah |
| Death to the radio they ain’t playing no jams, no more |
| If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side |
| Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three |
| 3 — 2- 1, ah |
| Tell me if my flow is crazy, deranged maybe |
| If I threw an old man into an old lady |
| Why I hit they granddaughter while she was chilling with homies |
| Marvin Gaye was playing I call that banging some oldies yo |
| L.A.Z mother fucker |
| I’m calling stations collect, murder my ears, songs they played 'em to death |
| Produce a mili like I’m bang-a-la-desh that cash money |
| Or power respect what’s your key to life |
| I’m picking the locks at birdman spot in the garage I spotted a Dodge |
| I jacked his Vette then circled the block |
| And heard, yo, whoa, did he really just taser the cops? |
| Hell yeah and your whole cul-de-sac just stood there and watched |
| They were shocked, I plugged in the matrix got lit up by voltage and watts |
| It fried my brains like I’m rolling up pot said, yo |
| Got me questioning why even put that effort in |
| I need Excedrin, headaches from tuning into F and M, I can’t eff with them |
| Death to the radio they ain’t playing no jams, no more |
| If you, feeling me then throw up your hands, wave em' from side to side |
| Keep the real shit alive, explode on the count of three |
| 3 — 2- 1, ah |
| Fuck the cops, I don’t care |
| Hng, Fuck the cops |