Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song F*ck Soundcheck , by - Copywrite. Release date: 04.04.2002
Song language: English
F*ck Soundcheck |
| My birth certificate reads: Earth’s most descriptive MC |
| My death certificate’ll read: I’m dead, quit listening to me But while I’m here I’ll use the planet as a platform |
| To plant panic in faggots and bash 'em with a mask on My stamina’s twice more to boost |
| I persuaded Anakin from the light side towards the truth |
| So panic in fright when handing me mics, wars insue |
| From the mic lord ya family likes more than you |
| Your head’ll flinch when I nurse you to trauma |
| Cause my add libs are iller than any verse you can conjure |
| Megahertz will persecute you with honor |
| Wheathermen’ll take it one step further and murder ya momma |
| Climb the highest mountain, spit bottomless venom, shot 'em with rhythm |
| I don’t get problems, I give 'em |
| My skin is made of the sharpest and thinnest blades |
| My notebook’s more amazing than the one Guinness made |
| So when I rock what’s not to like |
| I use your rhymes as an example of what not to write |
| Your faction is nothing, you’ll get chewed for the hell of it If rappin was fuckin ya whole crew would be celebit |
| Copywrite’ll shit a million words before your first sentence drops |
| Or before my double engine stops, whichever comes first |
| Cause I’m determined to serve y’all with permanent words, murdering germs |
| By avoiding the most obvious method, my hobby is catching |
| And you can’t dodge the Intrepid |
| Tis the season I’ll ceast you breathing through ya chest |
| That’s not a threat, it’s the reason I was sent |
| (Chourus) |
| Fucksoundcheck the crowd wants it now |
| Fuck site, by scent I’ll hunt you down |
| There’s 5 senses 4 seasons 3 emcees 2 down 1 breathing 1 weasing |
| Anyone who dis O-H town, I’m shittin on DJ’s that don’t have 2 copies of this, I’m shittin on When we on stage shut up until my click is gone |
| Show respect before your bitch is gone |
| Piercing me in the eyes is like staring at the sun for a minute or 3 |
| You’ll close your eyes blink and still see an image of me No camera can capture the essence |
| One thousand years nuthin changed, Dracula never had a reflection |
| Fuck rockin mics, I’m cracking domes with African Stones |
| My practice sessions a classic alone |
| Give me six minutes, teams a stripped gimmicks |
| I don’t wanna be mainstream, I wanna PISS in it |
| I’ll eat you twice, invite you back for thirds to lose |
| Try again and get ate 4 times like 32 |
| By a raw crew that’ll bury all you |
| With Freestyles that result in thousand dollar lawsuits |
| Hardcore, so while you spin on cardboard |
| I evole the practice of shit talking to an art form |
| And your banned from the mic |
| I get more Dap over the course of day |
| Then you’ll see in the span of ya life |
| Damn right, but I got all day if y’all wanna learn the hard way |
| Show y’all how a thunder god plays |
| To sum it up, I’ll Kill you |
| I don’t blame you for being wack |
| I blame your fans for being dumb enough to feel you |
| Travel with me, I’ll pass you by 10 styles, battle? |
| y’all ain’t no battle emcees, y’all are pen pals |
| You ran, I launch rapid torpedos |
| Now I’m dead on ya ass like rabbit fur speedos |
| God damnit I laminate what I write |
| After seeing how y’all are contaminating the mic |
| I animate when I strike right off the paper to cause random acts of Slamming a fan’s axe dead in ya man’s back |
| My monstrous accomplice wands’ll stun fast |
| with the promptness of a gun blast |
| I’m like, semen to semen I cum out the hardest |
| And I won’t scalp tickets to a concert, I scalp the artist |
| (Repeat chorus) |