| Yo, first I sprinkle the verse
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| By addin' words, rhymes
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| Flippin 'em in a verse with lines
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| Then I’mma hit 'em disperse rhyme venom
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| And then I’mma split 'em in half
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| Feelin' my wrath
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| Venturin' through parts of the South so dirty
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| You’ll want to be given a bath
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| It’ll take pathological liar to deny that I’m nice
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| And the truth hurts (ow)
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| Wearin' a blue shirt the best buy for the price
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| To get six guys this live and nice on the mic
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| So don’t diss us because we’re fly
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| Until you try what it’s like
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| I’m liable to slice at these emcee bastards
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| Leaving their knees fractured
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| Needin' every piece of their teeth re-crafted
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| So don’t front cause I see past it
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| You’re harmless like Wolverine’s adamantium claws
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| When they’re retracted
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| If the scene’s backlit
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| Or seems static, we’ll wreak havoc
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| We’ll beat batter to keep rappin'
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| A leech battle, a dream shatterer
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| For three nanoseconds
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| Count your paces, one step to Tonedeff
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| You’re Gone in Sixty Seconds like Nicholas Cage is
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| I’ll leave you riddled with basics
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| There’s no need for complexity
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| To be beside myself I need God next to me
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| Just kiddin'
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| I’m partially bullshittin'
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| The only time I take a loss pussy is when I lose kittens
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| I pitch shit past 'ya, no matter who’s hittin'
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| I don’t capsize boats
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| But I got crews flippin'
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| You catch it? |
| The message needs analyzation
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| Step and your boys’ll be pouring alcoholic libations
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| I flew sick, you knew this
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| I’ll puzzle you, doofus
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| Fuck mentally
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| Stretch you into a physical Rubik’s
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| It’ll take more than sticker rearrangement to change it
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| His language is so strange, how do we contain it?
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| You can’t just paint this up upon the canvas
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| Gotta get the mental picture
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| To begin to understand this
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| So anticipate defeat, delete chances
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| Got your heads speared on lances
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| Doin' burial dances
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| I’m giving body language speech impediments
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| Each uttered threat causes confident cats to stutter-step
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| Cut a reputation down to sighs too raw for porn overdubs
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| Plate of leftovers? |
| Eat some warmed-over thugs
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| A jaded wordsmith bleeding ghostwriter’s pens dry
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| Getting on a rapper’s nerves, corroding dendrites
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| When my thoughts connect, you ought to step away fast
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| Seems I gave cats ADATs the way they make tracks
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| Forget a scare, I’m not generous, kid
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| Spit Society of Nimh and indent it in lids
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| Indie Pennant is sick and this is just a quick reminder
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| If you was to pick a cipher then I’ll bus your clique to Rikers
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| All expenses paid, no questions asked
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| I’ll get open in the cut and leave your flesh a gash
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| Can’t relax, man, the last time I took a breather
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| I got brought up on murder charges, start the crooked fever
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| Hey yo, I’m not a fella to riff with
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| I’m so nice Mr. Rogers sued my ass
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| For copyright infringement
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| Roll with henchmen
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| That will switch heads
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| From wanna be thugs to 24/7 bitch kids
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| Topping my shitlist
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| Producting cat bastards wantin' jiggy beats
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| For some wack rappers
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| Switch my style? |
| Who you tryin’a play?
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| My beats’ll maraud yo' ass any time of day
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| Like Deuce Bigalow’s chick
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| Whenever you do shit
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| People see you and holler «That's one huge bitch!»
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| Shit, when the LP rolls out
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| The Source’ll be forced to make the quotables
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| A three-page fold-out
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| No doubt, I’m fed up with this wack shit
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| Bombin' the next kid wearin' Abercrombie and Fitch
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| And any jiggy rapper actin' fly on the radio’s
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| Gettin' pulled out of rotation like a Firestone radial
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| Kashal Tee, the hip hop scene I phatten
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| Not even my winner’s belt keeps my jeans from saggin'
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| It seems I’m braggin'
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| But fiends been naggin' for my next release
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| I apply all my expertise and make 'em extra pleased
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| Even get the vexed appeased, I make any brother feel this
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| All I do is independent, like double helix
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| Sellin' out? |
| Well I hope that you’re not
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| But how else could you afford all the soap that you drop?
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| You can’t fuck wit me, yo, kid, look
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| Takin' me out ain’t no small feat, you ain’t Bigfoot
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| You should know who the heck you’re facin'
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| Cause my reputation leaves no room for speculation
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| Now battle, is that you want to do?
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| What kind of man are you?
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| I bet you sit on the urinal too
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| Now that it’s proven to you
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| They got a lot to tell us
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| NIMH got your heart skippin' beats like acapellas
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| I be a cryptic author
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| Writing poems on tombstones
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| Celph-Titled, the nigga you couldn’t bring home
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| I’m at the crib wit your bitch givin' me slow head
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| Split you up in more pieces than when Jesus broke bread
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| My clique is raw, be prepared when you meet us
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| Kill an unborn baby and you still couldn’t de-fetus (ooh)
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| I don’t battle with rhymes
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| I’d rather battle with nines
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| Instead of using my mind
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| I’d rather shatter your spine
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| The closest you ever came to a punch line
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| Was waitin' for refreshments at the prom in '89
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| I’m super crafty, super nasty, super raspy
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| Fuckin' bitches with super asscheeks
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| You fucking faggots don’t know what raw speech is
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| I beat a bitch until her whole body turn to cleavage
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| I’m hyperactive so I drink decaffinated
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| My left jab is fatal, leavin' cats decapitated |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 616 Rewind , by - CunninLynguists. Song from the album Will Rap for Food, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп