Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Nicole, artist - Cult of The Damned. Album song Part Deux: Brick Pelican Posse Crew Gang Syndicate, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопNicole |
| Verse 1: Lee Scott |
| I’m the one- I’m the o- |
| I’m a one man army like Ason |
| There isn’t a problem I’m not a miniature vodka bottle away from |
| I’m Jesus with a face on |
| The voice in me head is me only day one |
| Alas I have spoken |
| But ye have trouble understandin' the notion |
| I speak in slang and me body language is broken |
| You’re gettin pimp slapped with an angular motion |
| Sharks swim to dry land when I stand in the ocean |
| I lap ye' while I’m flaggin' with me pants saggin' |
| Tappin' a bitch, with no hands, dabbin' |
| I’m stompin' on your dreams like a chav dancin' |
| On me high horse, draggin' the band wagon |
| Verse 2: Milkavelli |
| Busy body |
| I’m not like like anybody |
| HMS, yeah that’s my waist |
| I got that ferry on me |
| Many many, mini money |
| Laigon Laigon, till they rest my body |
| La la, yellow Telly Tubby, Blah Blah |
| On the other side where its never sunny |
| With a bag full of that illy illy McGillicuddy |
| Ay, drinkin' gin while i’m playin' Gin and Rummy |
| 616, I’m with Jim, but that ain’t my gym buddy |
| Ay, I’m from a world that is not the Earth |
| I’m rockin' pearls, but I’m not a girl, what on Earth? |
| Loss of words when I stop and twirl |
| Watch and learn |
| I tell my friends, watch them selves since I cocked the Nerf |
| Verse 3: Black Josh |
| Closed casket, I know they wanna see me dead |
| But those bastards, are only gonna see me sweg |
| I did drugs and can’t be normal again |
| Hit my barber up to shave both the horns on me head |
| Ay, Hell Boy, Little Nicky in the bubble coat |
| I turn the greatest of all time into curried goat |
| My sweg, over the top like a rugby goal |
| I roll up and hit the spliff like my funny bone |
| Shoulda, coulda, woulda, but you wouldn’t though |
| Cover blown, I should of known your squad are full of pussy holes |
| 'Sides you sorted my gang out with Stussy clothes |
| I use my Louis rag to blow the yay outta my bloody nose |
| Verse 4: King Grubb |
| Uh, G-R-U double B |
| With my crown, golden gown, and a bud of cheese |
| Deliverin' a mumbled public speech |
| Lyin' through my discoloured teeth |
| I’m what Yeezus wishes he could have been |
| I mean look at me, don’t mind if I do comfort eat |
| Most these rappers are too glum to speak |
| Prolly get cat-fished every other week |
| Real shit, but the way I say it is beyond belief |
| Favourite colour green |
| Save the pollen for the honey bees |
| Skullduggery |
| Plottin' on your currency, till I got a forest full of money trees |
| Verse 5: Bill Shakes |
| Angel dust nap |
| Raid your skunk stash |
| Scumbag, I blaze your blunt down in one drag |
| Vodka bottle fed since thirteen |
| Care free, fryin' rotten eggs in hair grease |
| Off me 'ead, bombin' Boba Fett, rocket fuel |
| Lost some screws, out of order come across as rude |
| Throw you off a roof, rob your food |
| What’s true? |
| What isn’t? |
| The plot thickens |
| Couldn’t give a fuck if you heard me |
| Get tied to the hood of a Merc' driven 130 down the M6 |
| Smuggled to Kirkby wrapped up in a curtain, and dumped in the Mersey |
| Slap a wack rapper for no good reason, fuck 'em |
| It’s open season |
| Verse 6: Bisk |
| Life ain’t free but your honey is |
| But fuck that, where the money is? |
| Like |
| It’s a stick up, want the paper and the liquor |
| Some cigarettes for later and that bacon for my dinner |
| Yo, me and Slum we runnin' trains on your boo |
| Shit, you made it to the top floor, but Bisk’s on the roof |
| Came for the loot, took his fisherman too |
| Stay spittin' the truth |
| A bitch or two stay mixin' my soup |
| Put this in the stereo and writ off the coup |
| Crawled out and started piffin' a zoot |
| Your bitch want the juice |
| Tell the truth, Josh been in it too |
| Keep a pack in my pocket like we sittin' in school |
| Verse 7: Salar |
| I’m not befriendin' 'em |
| Watch, to the end of the block I’m sendin' 'em |
| Not pretendin' I’m God — I’m just resemblin' |
| Time is what the heroine of the plot wants to spend with him — lots |
| Beggin' for attention, I knock and enter 'em |
| Next day I’m probably not rememberin' |
| Your whole style is poppycock |
| Rocky box ya till your body drops |
| And skeleton flops, then I’m |
| Bellin' your pops, and I’m, tellin' him off for such a negligent job |
| S is 'the mob' |
| Givin' lessons in Chess while I’m gettin' some top |
| I ain’t fuckin' emo but I be sexin' a goth on the lee-low |
| Antihero chico, semi-conscious rapper with a banker ego |
| Stackin' zeros |
Artist lyrics: Cult of The Damned
Artist lyrics: Lee Scott
Artist lyrics: Black Josh
Artist lyrics: Milkavelli
Artist lyrics: Salar
Artist lyrics: Bisk