| The rhyme is so raw, most these rappers need a seminar
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| You copy the same schematics, you making the same songs
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| You thought that you were the only, but understand it’s the physical
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| Artistry manifest, but no ideas original
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| Sick as creation no need for further analysis
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| Plus the beats bang prestige giving me calluses
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| Even if it’s assumed, proving it all again
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| Selling out all the souls never selling out who I am
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| Mild temper venter, chronic keep me casual
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| Formally introduced to a journey into the natural
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| The three, two zeros then proceeded by one
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| Laced like your woven tennis shoes before you go run
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| Danger danger, Will Robinson
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| There’s a crisis here, nappy ain’t dirty
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| Raised this man it’s just a type of hair
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| Nightmares have just begun, there’s no enticing him
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| Limbs relaxed, but your music pop like a Vicodin
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| R.I.P. |
| to the CD can’t even play my hits
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| Cause new computer shit without the means to play the shit
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| We love to boost the speed
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| We love the memory
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| It got me feeling light with nothing like we used to be
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| R.I.P. |
| to the CD can’t even play my hits
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| Cause new computer shit without the means to play the shit
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| We love to boost the speed
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| We love the memory
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| It got me feeling light with nothing like we used to be
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| Smoke smoke drip sip sip sip
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| Eyes closed like I missed this
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| No forgiveness, just a sick bitch
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| Cause I’m under destruction what is this?
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| Just a young nigga ready to get this
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| If I fall on my face, you’re my witness
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| Feast on my blood when I leave this
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| Didn’t mention I’m starting to think that
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| This world is lost like a sea ship
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| Walking to hell with the demons
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| How can the heavens defeat them?
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| Sometimes I just wanna, leave 'em
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| This feeling is something, I can’t run
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| I just wanna be where I came from
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| I’m never gon' see where I came from
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| Rest in peace to the Queen son
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| Brooklyn baby reborn
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| Tripping up, you lukewarm
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| This is like a warning Flatbush swarming Nike shoes on
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| Prove them critics wrong getting cream bitch I love it
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| And the fans hold us down, put nothing above
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| R.I.P. |
| to the CD can’t even play my hits
|
| Cause new computer shit without the means to play the shit
|
| We love to boost the speed
|
| We love the memory
|
| It got me feeling light with nothing like we used to be
|
| R.I.P. |
| to the CD can’t even play my hits
|
| Cause new computer shit without the means to play the shit
|
| We love to boost the speed
|
| We love the memory
|
| It got me feeling light with nothing like we used to be
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| The wickedest, man of fire the new Richard Pryor
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| The wicked lit, rubber on my dick
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| Cause I don’t want that Charlie Sheen shit
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| Please don’t say you’re the highest until you met your highness
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| I just, want the head like ISIS
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| Fuck her so precise her pussy gushing like a geyser
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| I’m Michael Myers with these grip pliers took off your eyelids
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| I sit in silence, speaking tongues and burnt bibles
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| So open letter to all of my rivals you will not vanquish my titles
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| My semi-automatic, will splatter a nigga like Jackson Pollock
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| Deranged since birth I was conceived in an insane asylum
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| I solemnly swear this evening to refrain from the violence
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| Young and wilding, psilocybin still my style is
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| LSD drops in my iris, tire mark, police sirens
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| No guidance, the belly of the beast is where I reside in
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| Grimy and vibrant like Busta Rhymes, in the early 90's
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| Click boom, your head blew like you play for the Giants
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| Lyrical tyrant the way I be rhyming
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| I deserve all of the Pulitzer prizes my pistol be hiding I pull it surprise 'em
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| My voice can be hypnotizing every verse I deliver be vivid and visually striking
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| Been the highest since I arrived and the climate is rising
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| It’s 'bout to get violent cover your eye and take this lyrical dose Doctor
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| Meechy Dark prescribed
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| I slide inside her I love her tight vagina no E-Z Widers
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| Back to the cypher I got chronic to light up pass me the lighter
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| R.I.P. |
| to the CD can’t even play my hits
|
| Cause new computer shit without the means to play the shit
|
| We love to boost the speed
|
| We love the memory
|
| It got me feeling light with nothing like we used to be
|
| R.I.P. |
| to the CD can’t even play my hits
|
| Cause new computer shit without the means to play the shit
|
| We love to boost the speed
|
| We love the memory
|
| It got me feeling light with nothing like we used to be |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song R.I.P.C.D., artist - Flatbush Zombies. Album song 3001: A Laced Odyssey, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп