Lyrics Andre Agassi - Henry Bowers, Prop Dylan

Andre Agassi

I was not sent over here to behave
I came here just to work in mysterious ways
I keep a serious pace when I march in the streets
While you are half steppin' like a dog when he pees
So move on will you please — see you don’t stand a chance when
I be rollin' up on you like I’m Samus Aran
And that’s apparent — call me Christ with a dread
They have me counted out but I rise from the dead
There’s a prize on my head if you’re willing to try
But you will lose the bounty just like William Bligh
You ain’t feelin the vibe even if you were chained
To runnin' tumble dryer — that is pretty insane
You produced a bad record just like Quincy Jones
I’m killin' cyphers like I’m solving the Da Vinci code
I’m invincible and as a principle
I brag about it though I don’t need to convince you all
«serve you like Agassi pure agony and terror
Got so many styles — like Agassi — rippin' up shows
Serve you like Agassi pure agony and terror
Check the exercise — serve you like Agassi — it’s a grand slam»
I’m for real like Richie minus the manic side
Though a street preacher — want beef — I let it slide
Though I could set aside some teeth for my nemesis
‘cause his penmanship is effortless — fuck your rhetoric
I’m deadalous — black shades and a trench coat
Fuck the blue pill — I’ve got true skills with pencils
A new thrill — you’re the fly in the soup — chill
We send ‘em way back over looped instrumentals
The full metal jacket rap — sample a genius
Unadulterated performance like Joaquin Phoenix
Okidoke — I’m the Illmatic classic pieces
You be the rapper soundin' like you choke on a plastic penis
Underachievin' divas — no rocket science pen holder
Overnight career like the Miley Cyrus bend over
Chip on my shoulder — tantrum personified
Close to ghost from punchin' clocks on my nine to five
«serve you like Agassi pure agony and terror
Got so many styles — like Agassi — rippin' up shows
Serve you like Agassi pure agony and terror
Check the exercise — serve you like Agassi — it’s a grand slam»
Another starving artist with a bad attitude
Still hungry as fuck and still rappin' for food
And I won’t stop until I fill the table
Like Cain I’m ill and I will disable/dis Able
«Is that really how you treat a brother man?»
Shut up I’ve had a rough day like Kiefer Sutherland
And you need to understand this here situation
I put two grapes in my mouth then spit two raisins
That’s the shit you’re facin' - see I’ve got a foul mouth
On a highway to hell and I’m headin' down south
And to all my critics — all of you naysayers
You define high just like blu-ray players
The fucks that I do give is triple-x rated
‘cause every time I write a verse it’s like Heisenberg
In the lab with the crystal meth patent
My intellect’s achin' when it falls on deaf ears
I need bigger checks — payment — no internet rep
I want the fat lady to sing her best yet
Waiting for my call until the blindfold
And cigarettes blazin' out the nostrils
It’s like a flick of Wes Craven — we shatter dreams
Without the camera team — so this’ll be an audio
Version of a splatter scene — a fantastic
Rap machine — syllable Godzilla — Prop Dylan