Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Loose Cannon, artist - Diabolic. Album song Liar and a Thief, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.04.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Warhorse
Song language: English
Loose Cannon |
I got medical surgeons testing my urine |
Cuz my shock value got me pissing electrical currents and it’s burning |
My pen is working overtime, so you gon' rewind |
'Til you finally know the rhyme, run home and quote the lines |
'Bolic terrorize cyphers like Al-Qaeda |
And fire rockets like I’m inside the cockpit of a stealth fighter (incoming!) |
I compel writers to excel, despite the |
Fact my deal at Viper was like a cell at Rikers |
My mic line through Midian defies oblivion |
Ahead of the time I’m living in like the Prime Meridian |
So why sign and get me in a worthless game where |
Abel’s gonna murder Cain for his personal gain? |
When I can brainstorm a hurricane of purple rain |
'til it floods the earth’s terrain and bursts in flames |
The same person remains but my purpose changed |
And it’s worth the pain in hearing y’all curse my name |
We let them hands go, we put our feet down |
We give a damn? |
No. We give out beatdowns |
So let your fam know, you wanna blam, go |
'cuz we can land those--don't even stand close |
I’m sitting on the edge, I’m lethal |
I’m afraid I might flex on people |
Might box, might put you in a box |
If you want it we can make it pop quick like blaow! |
I got half a million rappers catching feelings |
(Why?) 'Cuz I’m mass appealing like the Sistine Chapel ceiling |
And the whole time y’all pray Jesus comes |
I was hearing demons speak in tongues saying «Rob the preacher’s son» |
Too much Puerto Rican rum keeps me tipsy |
I’m trying to keep my equilibrium, like eating lithium |
So, first take the final edit, I can inspire skeptics |
To get the fuck up like Simon said it |
I got a street sign accepted line of credit |
With more props for spitting fire than pyrotechnics |
And I don’t gotta drive a '65 or Lexus |
For my CD to drop on more blocks than when you die in Tetris |
Just as I expected, I’ll get my poetic justice |
When the cats who run the game are leaving on a set of crutches |
When they lay screaming in the general public |
Cuz the metal rusted on their gun and backfired when it busted |
I never claimed to be a gangsta, but I don’t fire blanks |
I’m just known for saying crazier shit than Tyra Banks |
But celebrity stars leave us mentally scarred |
So I came to save the game like a memory card |
Cuz enemy squads just pretend to be hard |
Like their mic booth’s surrounded by penitentiary bars |
And whenever they rhyme they get federally charged |
They’re the mafia, and thieves chill wherever they are |
I don’t believe them. |
It simply isn’t feasible, the heat you pull |
Can cease some wolf from turning you little sheep to wool |
I’m a loose cannon with Duran’s hands of stone |
Ali’s swagger, Foreman’s right and the heart to stand alone |
It’s like cancer-prone DNA strands were cloned |
And gene-spliced with victims at Ground Zero’s landing zone |
But I’m no hero, I’m a bastard like my parents boned |
Had a one-night stand and pop’s wouldn’t answer the phone |
I’ll fight 'til I’m jamming bones with my knuckles breaking |
So fuck your mother, I’ll punch your mother’s fucking face in |
I’ll punch your face in to make a muthafuckin statement |
That I love the underground, I grew up in my mother’s basement |