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