Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Low Key , by - Company Flow. Release date: 27.02.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Low Key , by - Company Flow. Low Key |
| I’ve got two underpaid educators on the faders |
| Mad about the salaries of baseball players |
| A nation of thugs waving guns at the mayor |
| The meek on they knees, cold prayin' for savior |
| Enabled to outlast disease that plagues ya |
| Scientists with remedies, save 'em for later |
| In God we trust, written on the paper |
| Which soon will burn, as humans learn |
| To upgrade, advance |
| But wade, too far in the waters of chance |
| Stress reaches up to the heavens, its arms |
| Take the form of nuclear bombs |
| And when they weary, they drop and crush theory |
| Laying to waste every thing you held dearly |
| Let this near it, at this point you see clearly |
| You nodded through peril, just scream if you hear me |
| COME LIKE I HERE’SAY |
| Ain’t nobody comin' this fed |
| Could’ve went, got some sleep, but got keyed instead |
| So the organs that I use to breed are now bred |
| Cigarettes to the head, chillin' on the balcony |
| With some fly shit on hand like I practice foul degree |
| I’m out to be, one of the best, you know |
| MURS plus a mic, fuck the summit of rest |
| Now a gun and a vest? |
| Might protect you from takin' one in the chest |
| But it can’t protect you from this legendary crew that’s runnin' the west |
| I make you want to invest in the shit that we made |
| I give a damn what you made fuckin' with E-Trade |
| Cuz when the beat’s laid, the hardcore becomes priceless |
| The righteous Doctor T put the walk in concrete |
| The stop on Wall Street, the knock on the beat |
| You couldn’t run a close second with some clocks on your feet |
| Not jocked in the street but respected at the bank |
| Unsigned and hella broke, think it is when it ain’t, bitch |
| Uh, baby, the other OTHER white meat… |
| Whose radio reacts with the version of a perfect attack |
| Hi my name is Jamie Maleny, you might recognize me |
| From such magazines as white inches |
| And such films as kick the perpetrator new jack in his talk box |
| And bounce from the set like time bandits |
| Dwell in the cracks of the asphalt to design famine |
| If I combine the dirty works of the content in a bent drum pattern |
| Where each snare you hear is a snapshot of a broken city children |
| Building jails out of commotion and metal legos, c’mon man! |
| And that’s a kick-drum for the homeless, a gunshot for the system |
| Position on the totem is low |
| And Fahrenheits (?) today to sweat bullets |
| The cops will sodomize you like Jim Jay Bullet |
| And lick Billy Blanks at ya ass on some bullshit (Get 'em up Billy!) |
| Humanity makes the pellets that swim like the blade through gut jelly |
| So what the fuck can you tell me? |
| So what on God’s earth do you think you can sell me? |
| [Mr. |
| Len scratches «I got some good shit to tell you tonight |
| Brothers and sisters, brothers and sisters"] |
| Syncopated to the third degree, highest motion felt by man |
| Dropping through the bars from the fingers in the back of the brain day |
| Linger, maintain with the most devotion, scientific and vocal portion |
| Full-position dynamite, couldn’t have rocked on a finer night |
| Universe in a fire fight, me against the world tonight |
| Woes, negative, positive balance and flows |
| Holds, like in an upper color’s wallowing pride |
| From the first time that I tried might have been the first time that I died |
| Cuz I know now that I’m a mad scientist |
| Eyeing formations from the top of skyscrapers that dwells within my craters |
| Now it’s dark and I’m in the park with a marker and a telescope |
| In hopes to find the universe I fit in |
| Bidding on good riddance, forever after |
| Chuckling, your human science gives me laughter |
| Knees buckling, under the pressure of these energy masters |
| Smothering you bastards, acts is so plastic |
| Drop this shit from the head, ten-low, chemo |
| Emcees hope we won’t |
| Co-Flow, Living Leg' collaboration |
| We keep the world spinnin' like innovation |
| All shall awaken, nigga I don’t move or hover |
| Maybe you’ve got something to prove |
| But anything you’ve got, covered |
| Couldn’t picture this within a limbus |
| Infamous, stylus I’m epic |
| BMS damn right you said it |
| Damn right when it comes to the mic |
| Audio flows and any motherfucker can get it |
| MURS, Scarub and Eligh |
| Mr. Len, Mr. Lif, El-P and I |
| Please don’t attempt to adjust the vibe |
| We like to fuck with what you reset |
| What you just said, there’s no ways to protect |
| Two disconnections formed this step to intervention |
| Wherever we from, whatever we’ve done |
| However we some emcees |
| Wherever we from, whatever we’ve done |
| However we some emcees we from |
| My time is slim, it ripples like tight skin over rib cages |
| Where I’m from, the powers that be got us livin' like dogs |
| Chasing our tails three-hundred and sixty degrees |
| Going nowhere, blinded by the glare of the green |
| Not talking weed I’m talkin' dollars |
| They’re taping your every move on this planet |
| It’s a life-long race from start to finish |
| A competition where many win and many more get deminished |
| A selected few cross through, a checkered flag for the first of 'em |
| Those who come in first place just had more thirst in 'em |
| A little bit more burst in 'em, but keep out the catch |
| We’re all living in this poll-position |
| Some are just more focused to win and acquire the things that glisten |
| While others get left in the dust, miles away |
| Placed in the opposite position, pissing their lives away |
| So my time is slim, my time is slim, my time is slim… |
| Name | Year |
|---|---|
| Weight ft. Juggaknots, J-Tredz | 1998 |
| Patriotism | 1998 |
| Bladerunners ft. Company Flow | 1999 |
| Everything On Me | 2022 |
| Crash It | 2021 |
| 2010 ft. 3MG | 2006 |
| Without You | 2021 |
| Done Deal ft. 3MG | 2003 |