Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hallelujah, artist - Dilated Peoples. Album song Directors Of Photography, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 10.08.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Rhymesayers Entertainment
Song language: English
Hallelujah |
Ayo, hoes holler hallelujah, how I maneuver |
Passenger’s side with Ruger, kinda sewer |
My mind is a sewer, infested with garbage |
Crime, rhyming and music, disrespecting the market |
Like a Mexican martyr, boy, I do it to death |
Nothing left with the carcass, squeeze a Tec on the target |
Aim the wreck at your artist, flames, a mess on the carpet |
Then hit everything except for the daughter |
Cat burglar to a merciful murderer |
Certainly not with the circus, they trying serve |
I’m either too hood for my own good |
Or I’m too good for my own hood |
Cold is the climate in the hearse |
Where they found me in the dirt, too demonic for the church |
I body any and everybody until the day they put my body in the earth |
This is ghetto gossip while I work |
Live from Venice, the something menace |
Put me in the Guinness for raising hell up for all the sinners |
High as tinters, violinists, I string them all along |
Tied to the flow like water skis in the red ocean |
Hang like an apostrophe, any MC no Qu’ran |
I prayed to the God, then prayed on their bodies all at once |
Sun setting, never regretting the day’s events are gone |
Forgive me for my sins, with everything that I |
Sweaty, sick as spaghetti, my noodle machete sharp |
To niggas that wanna spark, I pray for you, hallelujah |
Quick as a cougar when I maneuver |
You spit maneuver, eating Peruvian in my rishwa pen |
Pretty Julia Robinson, I’m a woman robbing you |
Of your coolness, part of the reach like the stewardess |
Underground like the sewage is, who fucking with the kid? |
Did this show evidence? |
International, such an animal, yeah I really been |
Killing on the daily, you niggas crazy and asterisk |
Star, follow me you could probably find the main jar |
I been major, it’s Rapsody, boy |
I don’t trust the score, I’ve been baffled by judges' cards before |
Never leave it in their hands, that’s the art of war |
I learned the proper punching power started from the floor |
Ground up, renovate, a wall is just another door |
Resurrected like the phoenix, blazing every stage |
Spread my wings and fly, but gravity’s a heavy cage |
Hellfire and heaven’s rage on every page |
Revelation propaganda, maybe it’s the seven plagues |
Aiming at the tower, same commercial, different station |
They stuck on training wheels and tracing paper, vapor chasing |
I’m half amazing, a quarter sinner, a quarter savior |
Fascinated, Rakaa seen the wretched paint the righteous painting |
My travel agent’s favorite, preacher’s son, no sign of fading |
The lights weaponized, fireworks at night displaying |
The blazing arrows fly, a thousand points of light just raining |
Careful when you’re in the quarters, chariots are hydroplaning |
Fucker, we from the hundreds now |
Kill a fuck assumption, we bucking off or we ducking down |
Couple blocks away from the form, check how we run this town |
You fuckers get this work in this bun, check my circumference now |
Circle wasn’t set stretching, yoga flame |
Hottest rapper in the streets and they don’t even know his name |
Kept the dope, boy, and I ain’t even need a golden chain |
I’m focused, man, you shooting like a rookie that don’t know his range |
Smoking, watch me go insane, opus and the novacaine |
Shit was once an open game, we got it by a rope and chain |
Losing all control of wild paintings in my broken brain |
I don’t think you get it, scrap me down for anything you niggas sending at me |
Young niggas flexing, mean mugs but trigger happy |
I’m getting high, I don’t ever let a minute pass me |
I’m feeling famished, bitch, I’m sick of fasting |
About that action, we can get it cracking |
Never find shit to match |
I caught a body, they called it a verse |
Called the cops, I caught the life, they calling a hearse |
Pain is easy in reverse, I think pleasure hurts |
The first rule is win, the second’s don’t forget the first |
I think the worst now behind us |
Hello first-timers, it’s welcome to one-liners |
Question anything against the center of alignment |
This rock ain’t a diamond until it’s polished up and shining |
Decide to ride the retro minutes to the summit’s peak |
Others fall trying to climb it because their stomach weak |
When we climbing in the summer heat |
They throwing shade against the team when the others meet |
Despite the |
After this drops, nothing’s best kept but nothing’s secret |
If nothing’s nothing, then what the fuck is getting even? |
Just an odd man out, another duck in season |
What’s yours is yours, what’s mines is mines |
It seems as simple as it simply rhymes |
I keep the simpleton spit in all the sympathy lines |
I mean it’s Craig G rap came on symphony shines |
Slay the Nazarene, you just fire water, I’m gasoline |
It ain’t A day in Philly if I don’t pass a fiend |
It’s blood everywhere, similar assassins seem |
Purify the water, correlate the tour to a maccabee |
You think that you could box a Vinnie? |
Dummy, that’s obscene |
The nine milli, silly, dummy, but the mac is mean |
The downstairs wild pretty, but the attic clean |
You have unbearable lightness and just a lack of being |
You ain’t built to shoot the fire with me, that’s the thing |
I’m only after one thing, money, that’s the rings |
I’m only after one head, money, that’s the king’s |
A rack on a bigger rack and so he have to sing |
I got an Ingraham Mac Eleven and it has a beam |
And that’s a beautiful love there, it has a gleam |
You wasn’t in a platoon, cousin, cause that was Shane |
Old school, still loaded the guns with Vaseline |
Selling the J dirty boogie, gray hoodie, hit the dougie |
Pinky rings on racks of chicken nuggets |
Shit’s like shooting fish in a bucket, damn the hummus |
I’m in Japan for the summer, land the plane |
Or Jamaica, black rain in the forecast |
Four-four class, open a stolen Accord door and haul ass |
Body disposed by Albanian doorman for four grand, aw man |
I throw the lamb in the ground and leave it overnight |
You ain’t ever seen this in your life |
You ain’t used to being where I been to, Curly and my men do |
You ain’t been through shit I been through |
This is limited edition, 666 driven |
Tryna keep from out of prison |
So I lay low, throwing dice, tomato sauce for the boss |
Place the crib over the cross, it’s us |