Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Verbal Graffiti, artist - Cormega. Album song The True Meaning, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 24.06.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Aura
Song language: English
Verbal Graffiti |
| I’m like a panther in the dark |
| Silent when I strike the paper |
| Like a dagger in your heart |
| When I write I leave a mark |
| I seen the NARCs before they even bark |
| Told son, «Leave the block» |
| Get that money upstairs |
| In case the currency is marked |
| Beat a man who plot against me, God forgive me |
| My enemies die in the street and my heat is empty |
| Coincidentally |
| The same fate was meant for me |
| My AK’s my lawyer |
| When it’s on, it represent for me |
| Vacate the sentence |
| Case acquitted when your face get splitted |
| I stay spittin' with grace, chain glistenin' |
| Gray Timberlands, my niggas face predicaments |
| But we could either live, die, or face imprisonment |
| Take a hit of this |
| Uncut raw, a taste will numb your jaw |
| My rhyme is on consignment |
| Just in case you wanted more |
| Lyrics are furious |
| I reign imperious |
| Niggas ain’t fuckin' with me son, I’m dead serious |
| Streets personify me |
| Like heat I keep beside me |
| Either I be, the most underrated lyrical |
| Drug-related nigga who gun be blazin in the projects |
| A prosperous drug block is subject to conquest |
| Where I’m from |
| A fiend’ll sell a heater for 5 jums |
| Dealers scatter when D’s or Y come |
| R.I.P. |
| is written on walls for people who die young |
| And niggas either dream of b-balling, or to be balling |
| Sometimes it’s hard for me to write |
| Son, the streets calling |
| Patience is a virtue |
| Temptation will hurt you |
| And sentence to a bid |
| Your fake friends will desert you |
| Til' you’re assed out |
| Screaming life’s a bitch that burnt you |
| I don’t expect a fake nigga to feel this |
| Look in my eyes, stare at the realness |
| I was corrupted by drug supply |
| Fly kicks, and buckin' nines |
| Looking up at the skies |
| Thinking I’m too young to die |
| Thoughts of conquering |
| Though we were taught not to sin |
| Supreme Court and death got a nigga losing lots of friends |
| My pen’s immortal like Mommy in heaven |
| No man can harm you |
| An army of angels with true love is there to guard you |
| Tell my dog Blue, I love him like a brother |
| The deep shit |
| Three bricks remain uncut |
| But the industry didn’t want me in |
| They try to condemn me |
| Sprewell of rap, they even try to suspend me |
| Yet a thug nigga rise |
| People are snakes, and justice is blind |
| My jury is my gun on my side |
| Son I write with the trifeness |
| Engraved in Tyson |
| Curse the shots that left BIG and Pac lifeless |
| The realness |
| Some try to conceal this |
| Despite that fact, niggas can’t match my lyrical illness |
| I’m a key, you three grams with cut in it |
| If you want it |
| I don’t give a fuck, nigga |
| Rapper slash drug dealer |
| Slash I bust my gun, nigga |
| Slash your face with a rug, nigga |
| What’s the meaning? |