| Yo, Engineer!
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| I think I lost my mothafuckin' mind, man
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| Diabolic, Foul Play
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| We takin' over the mothafuckin' game
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| I remember being on my momma’s porch
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| A kid with rotten thoughts, tossin' tomahawks
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| At kids to knock 'em off their rockin' horse
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| Now I’m at war, connectin' cops
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| To electric shock treatment, and I’m not leavin'
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| 'Til their eyes pop bleedin' and hearts stop beatin'
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| The whole cop precinct thinks I should be in a padded room
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| When they the bastards who
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| Fucked Luima in the ass with brooms
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| I travel through and kill the mothers of these savage goons
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| Fill the house with gaseous fumes
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| Lightin' up a match like, «BOOM!»
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| On the crime scene they’ll have the camera zoomed
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| At every massive wound
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| I left when I stabbed the womb with plastic spoons
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| And now the planet’s doomed, ‘cause this afternoon
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| I was pissin' out the Sun’s flames
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| With guns aimed at the Moon
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| Cats assume I’m crackin' jokes, but I ain’t laughin', folks
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| I’d slash your throat for a pack of smokes if my ass is broke
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| Stashin' coke, stayin' cool, I ain’t no nervous wreck
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| I earn respect, burnin' purple sess durin' urine tests
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| I flirt with certain death
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| Attackin' for some fame and fortune
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| With some ragin' swordsmen
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| Torchin' who’s on stage performin'
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| Take this chloroform and pour it on some fresh linen
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| Gag, you have your head spinnin', tied up like the tenth innin'
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| Bread-winnin', I sex women, slap the chaperone
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| Take her in the back to bone
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| And tape it on my camera-phone
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| I have the throne hard as granite stone
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| The illest rapper known inside New York’s catacombs
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| Underground, ‘cause that’s my home
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| I think I lost my mind, I’m 'bout to cross the line
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| Start a riot, kill a cop, and just toss the 9
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| I’m hungry all the time, pain is all I find
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| Fuck my music! |
| I’ma loose it, I don’t wanna rhyme
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| I was born from mom’s colon
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| Possessed by the ghost of Lamont Coleman
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| Now Sean’s flowin' like hemoglobin
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| Through a hole in Ron Goldman
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| I’ll be slappin' jaws, bitches I be stabbin' raw
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| Tappin' more than a Jehovah’s witness knockin' at your door
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| Smashin' whores, bangin' in the car like 808's
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| More semen than a naval base
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| Skeetin' on their facial traits
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| Me and my label mates
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| Don’t need a watch from Jacob’s place
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| To make her take a taste
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| And add devil’s horns to an angel face
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| Ain’t at the VMA’s, I’ll be up at CMJ
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| With bitches on their knees to pray, swallowin' my DNA
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| Drunk chuggin' ENJ, dodgin' pigs drivin' Fords
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| I see more holdin' cells than salesmen at Verizon stores
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| Iron core, hard as nails, raised inside a garbage pail
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| Could’ve went to Harvard, Yale
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| Or Princeton, but chose to market sales
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| The end is near, I sense your fear
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| ‘Cause me and Engineer guzzled Everclear
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| And sabotaged the Western Hemisphere
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| They sent us here when I stepped in Hell with Jezebels
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| Pressed the 12 and Heaven fell every time my record sells
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| I’ll be dead or left in jail before I’ll be the next to fail
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| Other cats don’t measure well
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| Like ounces on a metric scale
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| My train of thoughts pay the cost and never take a loss
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| Make you a decayin' corpse
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| And laugh through my day in court
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| Don’t play it off like I won’t run a razor straight across
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| Your throat 'til there’s tomato sauce
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| Sprayin' towards your neighbor’s porch
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| I think I lost my mind, I’m 'bout to cross the line
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| Start a riot, kill a cop, and just toss the 9
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| I’m hungry all the time, pain is all I find
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| Fuck my music! |
| I’ma loose it, I don’t wanna rhyme |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song I Don't Wanna Rhyme, artist - Diabolic. Album song Liar and a Thief, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп