Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hold Up, artist - Drapht. Album song Who Am I?, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 02.06.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Ada, The Ayems, Warner Music Australia
Song language: English
Hold Up |
Check, as soon as I’ve animated the track, contaminated the listener, |
Mr. D-Rapht the man that painted the picture. |
Spit your criptic codes to split the roads and |
quick to throw a hit if you stick your nose in. |
Like dicks I’m chosen to unload and bring life |
into a world that’s turning into hell by night. |
Sell your light (Cellulite) to the darkness like Oprah’s backside, |
but sticking it to em harder than Ron Jeremy’s Jap’s eye. |
Capsize your vessel you’re wrestling with the great white. |
Rock a sharper set than Danos Direct steak knives. |
Take life for granted and you’re branded for slaughter, |
take flight but landed in hot water. |
I’m borderline, but brought up with nothing, |
but tough enough to never be caught up in anything |
that’s gonna be falling short of |
my vision of how I’m gonna be living my life. |
Better make the right decision is never given it twice |
You can’t flex |
Or even step to this kid |
But I seize ya (Seizure) like an epileptic fit. |
Cats caught amnesia, |
forgetting that mortar stepping |
on stages like Nicholas cage |
brandishing the weapon. |
We could face off or I could rip your face off |
and spit shards of steel while your bitch kneels and tastes cock. |
Make of it what you want. |
I take what I will. |
Drop lyrics like acid. |
Here’s a jagged little pill |
that’s hard to swallow. |
Tough act too. |
Drown out your whole crew like the day after tomorrow. |
Ice age flows. |
I change weather patterns. |
Re-arrange the structure of the earths crust, |
shatter atoms. |
Smack you back to the dark ages with one verse. |
Snap your head back like a car crash with one word. |
Shit verbally. |
You whack try-hards and Richard geres gerbil |
I mean your act died in the ass |
Unleash my anger in the form of a scripture. |
I paint a picture with words and emerge the victor. |
In a gladiator forum. |
Picture which you rip to bits before you tabulate the warning. |
I’ll force-feed you humble pie |
and wash it down with a cool glass of sour grape juice. |
You wanna rumble try. |
It seems I’ve developed an appetite to devour fake crews. |
Make no excuses or question how we work. |
Clandestien drops and you react like a knee-jerk. |
I get it cracking like Guy Fawks right. |
Step to the mic and watch the stage lights blacken. |
Witnessing only swift flashes of chrome |
and glare of eyes. |
Verses to make the hair on the back of your neck rise and stand up |
at attention, now mention |
Deststien new banter. |
Prey and hell follows with him. |
Who’d you expect, Robbie Williams? |
Nah cunt let me entertain you. |
Guarantee nothing but a totally insane view. |
Back with the main crew who hate you. |
The last Syllabolik says who, now say you. |
Make me ill. |
I take a sniff of a chopped proton pill |
and go for some overkill. |
When I puke nukes, spewing. |
If you realise the power of local shit |
till you’re blowing it out or proportion like a bloated bitch. |
TV views, hate them more than before. |
All you act like you’re zombies and board your doors. |
Brains, brains. |
Did I say its insane? |
Jump on the bandwagon like Michael Jackson |
to make a change and heal the world. |
Sue him for a fraction. |
He’s a child molester. |
Fuck you TV boy. |
Fuck it. |
It’s the end of my lecture, |
get out. |
Yeah, yeah |
You step back as I enter the track |
and the spot’s so exact. |
Its as if im attached, locked and latched. |
Words be the perfect match. |
Aint just hatched. |
You’ll unscratch |
and I got the type of flow to leave you satched. |
To catch a glimpse of my blueprints and get the hints. |
Came through the door in ninety four been rapping ever since. |
Who got the nerve to even step to this here crew? |
You sweat when we’re near you. |
And left with severe bruise. |
Appear through transparent fake MC. |
Verbal jabs with the head will make em weak at the knees |
and then they’ll buckle like a can in the fire. |
You’re still stuck at the knuckle better plan to retire. |
We on a standard that’s higher. |
Take you to another level on stairways. |
Potent shit we’re tokin bound to clog up your airways. |
Fair to say, |
we ain’t the type to fuck around. |
When its time to get down, |
you know who’ll bring the real sound. |
Synchronise. |
Burn turns truth to lies. |
The crow flies straight in the Syllabolik skies |
I’m a big Hislop to Aussie hip hop beats. |
Get battered like shark flesh at the fish and chip shop. |
The rip off. |
We serve your type here, |
not with beer but a burning and a swift kick to the rear. |
Show no fear. |
Show no mercy at shows. |
Since the rhymes of the nursery I’ve been ripping the dope flows. |
Hope grows, but is soon dies off |
Cos like a pie in the microwave you’re too fucking soft. |
I Stand aloft |
and me dropping my burden |
is something you’ll never see like Ian Paisley in a turban. |
I’m wording crews up. |
Herding yous up. |
And yous get chewed up like a pokie does to your two bucks. |
Some crews jump |
and any rapper talking shit, |
will drown in the rivers of the words I spit. |