| Fuck a penny for my thoughts, here’s a dollar
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| If you can hear me holla why they pop collar
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| Champagne and combosie, I press play on the RCA to bring a legend back for the
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| artists
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| Stay tuned with the stars man, design bars man
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| I rock with a passion of fight cause life’s hard
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| As long as my sky spinnin', and I reside in it
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| I define livin' with though slides trippin'
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| Killing innocence. |
| Fuck a Glock, Benz, and medicine
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| Especially when held by keen MC’s that grimace and
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| Fuck y’all thinking «the world’s mine»
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| Your dumb, deaf, or blind. |
| Smarten up, see the signs
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| Buildings fall, for race war we brawl
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| Like a new civil war fuck Bush and Gore
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| I got one shot to make it to the top
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| Like a runaway slave ya’ll better call the cops
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| I must be tragic towards the pop culture fabric
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| Surreal to the listener this shit must be magic
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| It’s the art of war stores trying to sell me on the bullshit
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| I’m laced up buckle and belts, pens, and toolkits
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| Building up my city on rock and roll and soul
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| Coming back on the physical wax so fuck gold
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| Not a soldier of fortune, but believer in the defense
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| Protector of the rights, I fight the current events
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| Soul so bright I cause a total eclipse
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| Fuck a new order I began my own sequence
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| Individual might with individual sight with hot lyrical mics high intensity
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| nights. |
| (try and walk with me)
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| Back on the stage in a fiery blaze
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| Letting loose the inner sanctum while I conjure the grave
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| Resurrecting on cassette cause my heart in stone
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| Chip on my shoulder, I’m colder
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| 'Cause I’m always alone
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| And, man, it’s hard to breath without fucking up trees
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| I zone without the microphone, I’m scribing at ease
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| Enoch blessed the instro, I let the pen stroke
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| Paper now exposing the fake, look at minstrels
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| Reminisce on way back in the day
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| With black face on the screen and crackers, they mock slaves
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| Fuck a song and dance. |
| What you get is a glance
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| A sharp bird’s eye view through black experience
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| When a sling meet a brake. |
| A slug meets your fate
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| White broads on a nigga dick, groupie need the taste
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| Goddamn, my nigga. |
| It’s like I’ve been here before
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| Like polaroid shot picture that I’m headed for store
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| The agonizing truth—just lock me up in that booth
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| ‘Cause I’m keep on spittin' this shit. |
| It’s for the youth
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| Young niggas coming up, y’all acknowledge the rain
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| Umbrella on ya head, get ahead in this game
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| My niggas |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Soapbox , by - CYNE. Song from the album Evolution Fight, in the genre Танцевальная музыка