Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Thun & Kicko, artist - Cormega. Album song The Realness, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 23.07.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Aura
Song language: English
Thun & Kicko |
You’s a notebook crook, with loose sleave beef |
a backseat criminal that pass the heat |
to somebody that blast the heat |
Man, it sound bad on the pad, what happened in the street? |
revealing on the vinyl an analog outlaw |
alot of gats on your DAT, tape southpaw |
you thuggin’when the mic’s plugged in barkin’through the speakers like you got no sense |
you wild on the two inch |
got your platinum plaques to prove it your music’s been around the World movin' |
and it comes right back around on the ground, don’t it? |
now it’s time to face your opponent |
Infamous cling to this real shit, stuck where we started at fuck that, not because we have to, I want to I love this shit, the raw is what I live for |
to hear the sound of the crowd roar for more |
to see the niggas that can’t pay rush the door |
whylin’on the dancefloor |
when they song come on, swingin’they fists, ready for war |
but it’s a different type of effect, it’s not violence |
they’re just tranced by the advance |
tranked by the sound bank |
put under the drum, numbed off of our shit |
now who you rockin’wit'? |
them or us deep love or cheap lust?, QB 'll bust |
Infamous 'till we pass on you laughin’at the wrong shit, I take ac-tion |
defend my confedons |
nigga I write bombs that’ll shatter your ambitions of bein’top dog |
as we move through the stage fog |
I need to bass more |
so I can taste it and make ya’ll go AWOL |
and lose it, say no more, brace your delf, nigga it’s on. |
Verse 2: (Cormega) |
(yo, back up yo.) |
Who’s tale you tellin'? |
are you frail or felon? |
were you makin’sales or watchin’niggas sellin'? |
you exploit niggas lives in your rhymes and then avoid 'em |
you never felt the moisture in the air of coke boilin' |
you never felt the razor scrapin’your plate |
your hands achin’yet you keep choppin''cause theres paper to make |
you never felt the power of invincibility |
clutchin’a gun like fuck it dun, it’s him or me at your best you was a hand to hand |
no more than Three grams |
what the fuck you know about a Ki, man? |
you never hustled |
lets get it right, my nigga Y would’ve stuck you |
stop dry snitchin’in your rhymes, listen |
what you tryin’to do? |
help the guys in Blue? |
indight niggas so that can be another rhyme for you? |
you a parasite, you never had a life |
so you throw other niggas lives in your pad at night |
it’s clever when you write it spoken well for a dude who never been indighted |
you know the deal mothafucka, the real make the fake niggas kneel |
and lose appetites when you taste niggas steel |
my rhymes are what it takes to get a deal and make it real |
I’m like Big, you can’t replace the skill |
I laced it ill like Cocaine in Scarface’s grill |
your mothafuckin’flow is basic, chill |
I’m Cormega, raw forever |
y’all niggas know my steez, I’m reppin’for Queens |
you minor league |
I’m big time like Mark McGwire’s team |
your whole team is pussy, when I squeeze vaginas bleed |
my lyrics stay official |
I bagged up coke on dishes made of crystal |
your niggas, they won’t miss you |
my Nickel-plated pistol — got Sixteen shots, you can take 'em wit’you |
to the coffin or DA’s office |
surgeory, nurses screamin'"We lost him!" |
life suddenly divorced him, fuck it, it cost him |
if you want beef say no more |
brace your delf, nigga it’s on, we spray Four-Fours, bitch! |