Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Freestyle, artist - D12. Date of issue: 17.06.2021
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Freestyle |
| Whether you rap or you don’t rap |
| Duck 'fore you get rushed |
| Get stuck fucking with us |
| 'Cause… |
| We don’t give a fuck |
| Oh, we sound like Em clones, huh? |
| Where the fuck you think he started at holmes, huh? |
| Skip the small talk, talking is a risk you take |
| Kick yo' face 'till yo' head go through this window and break |
| Break to the 1−9, Denaun cause the gun-line |
| And collect bank from every weed spot like I’m one time |
| I’m ain’t the remorseful type, I’ll drink and still drive prone to hit anything |
| at any given night |
| Fuck leaving my roots, I’m still in cahoots with nincompoops who shoot out like |
| troops in Beirut |
| Pull up in a red hearse with Fred Durst dressed like a nurse |
| With a coach purse screaming his throat hurts |
| On my Harley Davidson, I ride down Main Street |
| I speed with my dad’s name on my ass cheek |
| Gimme your ones and get robbed with a broken gun |
| Got you doing more dances than Puffy’s son |
| All you groupies that wanna get took |
| You gotta be 12 years old with a coloring book |
| And anyone else who wanna get fucked, 'cause |
| (Yeah bitch, oh shit!) |
| Whether you rap or you don’t rap |
| Duck 'fore you get rushed |
| Get stuck fucking with us |
| 'Cause… |
| We don’t give a fuck |
| We interrupt your little world of perfectness |
| To bring you the shit to murder conservatives with |
| To curse and diss, with verses so merciless |
| These words can just fuck up your high worse than this |
| I’ve killed for less, and dumped bodies in the motherfuckin' wilderness |
| I’m a wildebeest, and I’ve concealed a piece even after I was busted by Warren |
| Police |
| You think just because I got caught by these cops once |
| I’m not gonna carry shotguns to blow your wigs back like hamburgers without any |
| top buns |
| So many damn murders I can’t even count one |
| Two black guns, I don’t know maybe they’re Magnums |
| I don’t know what the fuck they’re called, I just grab them |
| 12-gauge dumps in a drug-fueled rage, fuck age, still goin' through my «fuck-you» stage |
| I’m a 27-year-old eleven-year-old, I’mma never grow up, bitch, I ain’t gon' |
| ever get old |
| I’ll be sitting here with a cane and a beard |
| Still insane and as weird as the day I came in here, brain in my rear, yeah |
| So until I’m wrinkled as Robert Van Winkle, I’mma drop a damn single every |
| goddamn week, people |
| It’s D12, June 19th, so do like me, and go buy three, with no ID |
| Kids |
| Now why you wanna play a game with me, dangerously |
| The outcome’s hot, once split your brain in three |
| Proof with crooked raps, always ask them «What the fuck you lookin' at»? |
| And invite the hook to scrap |
| I gave my life to God, nigga, then I took it back |
| Move it black, this fuckin' gat’ll leave your cookie cracked |
| Detroit’s derelict arrogant terrorist, straight on you aerospit |
| Spit at various people to leave you with a body to get buried with |
| Every hit was serious, niggas wanna know how murderous the Dirty Harry is |
| When I’m on your front porch with guns about to bust |
| 'Cause |
| Whether you rap or you don’t rap |
| Duck 'fore you get rushed |
| Get stuck fucking with us |
| 'Cause… |
| We don’t give a fuck |
| When they run into Swift they change directions |
| My shit so tight when hoes hear it they catch a yeast infection |
| You need protection, you gon' fear it |
| I snatch away yo' DNA from existence, with no spirit |
| Give up the carats or see the nine |
| Fuckin' with mine is like Farakhan chewin' up swine, on Christmas |
| With a white trailer bitch on his arm, chillin' in Europe, havin dinner with a |
| Uncle Tom |
| I attack killin', fuckin' hoes like Matt Dillon |
| Stackin' obituaries higher than Michael Jackson’s ceiling |
| I leaves nobody livin', I got Satan shiverin' |
| Hate what I’m deliverin', you know the best then send 'em in, crack you with a |
| fifth of gin |
| You got your men, but they all wearin' skirts like them niggas from Scotland, |
| you hoes are not grim |
| Don’t make me stop in with a mag, and blow yo feet up out yo Top Tens |
| I’m the one they call in to torture ya |
| Smackin' your bitch and forcin' her in the back seat of an old Corcia |
| Kuniva’s the silent type, but under the silence is a violent life, |
| usually followed by sirens and lights |
| Get your throat cut by this tyrant’s knife, from high as a kite |
| And my get-a-way driver’s drivin' right |
| Fuckin' with Hans will get you flipped like a baton, the deadliest bombs |
| Wrap around niggas like Camabons, you know I ain’t nothin' to play with |
| Thinkin' you real like The Matrix, fuckin' with niggas drippin' off self-hatred |
| I’m on some live shit, rappers be on some «Ready To Die» shit |
| 'Till I put a ice pick, right through they eyelids, fuck heaters, |
| I’ll knock you out instead of shootin' |
| I hit hard, break yo' fuckin' jaw like Resolution |
| Give up the cash and coat, or get your little brother’s classroom smoked |
| And the substitue gagged and choked |
| Nigga |
| Whether you rap or you don’t rap |
| Duck 'fore you get rushed |
| Get stuck fucking with us |
| 'Cause… |
| We don’t give a fuck |
| D12, June 19th |
| Do 'shrooms like me |
| Get ready for it. |
| Trouble soon, baby |
| You know it |
| Tell your mama and your sister too |
| 'Cause we fuckin' 'em |