Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song In Common, artist - Diabolic.
Date of issue: 27.01.2015
Song language: English
In Common |
Yo, yo, yo |
I know how far this could go |
But I’m not willing to go far, as long as you know |
I’d rather dump you off of the speed-boat |
Your trench coat float while you bleed slow—you already know |
I check my P.O. |
Box with a robot |
I got a ammo can in the corner full of old Glocks |
Aight, breathe. |
Adjust to the beat |
Adjust to the speed of Canibus, the MC |
The library of binary. |
Words I rhyme surprise many |
But few realize, if any |
You navigate through a constellation of bars |
If it does not madden, you will be a god |
If it does not sadden, then you will be awed |
But they are on their way to capture you, so be on your guard |
The world I live in is different from the world you been in |
But I stay committed and still spit it |
The microphone is a psychotic object |
Those who don’t spit hot shit will get shocked and drop it |
I’ll be there in the morning to collect your belongings |
If I have to knock more than once, you’ll be sorry |
The door sign reads: enter or die |
That’s when I wrote the hundred-thousand bar rhyme |
So ask Canibus. |
He ain’t understanding this |
Cause ninety-nine percent of his fans ain’t shit |
And ninety-nine percent of his fans didn’t think |
That ninety-nine percent of the planet can’t spit |
But Diabolic 'bout to show you how we handle this |
Diabolic and Canibus—sample this |
Canibus and Diabolic get busy when we rhymin' |
And that’s what we got in common |
Yo, ladies rock your body while 'Bolic cocks a shottie |
And pops these prima donnas posing for the paparazzi |
If not, I’ll prolly hop inside a stolen Maserati |
Goin' kamikaze like a pilot sent from Nagasaki |
That’s why doctors got me on some anti-psychotics |
My logic’s «If I die, 'Bolic's sales sky-rocket» |
This high-wattage made corpses rise from pine boxes |
With the fire in their eye sockets like they Cyclops’s |
By God, this man lost his damn mind and |
Buried his head in the sand to plant some landmines |
I worry the feds had planned to scan our land lines |
Instead, mankind embrace fags who can’t rhyme |
So for the last time, I refuse to rap—it's worthless |
'Til I land a better deal than the Louisiana Purchase |
My purpose is to scratch the surface 'til a crack emerges |
Afterwards it’s stuffin' bitches like a taxidermist |
And I’m glad my sperm is drippin' through your bitches panties |
'Til she barefoot and pregnant, sifting through my kitchen pantry |
My daughter’s nine. |
Dad’s living like a vigilante |
Kiss the family, huntin' pedophiles trickin' kids with candy |
In other words, those who dare touch what he treasures |
Sleep better than Heath Ledger beneath a dream catcher |
So I suggest you pray the G-O-D bless ya' |
Like a good Muslim on his knees facing east Mecca |