Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Counterpoint , by - Jon MurdockRelease date: 03.11.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Counterpoint |
| Yeah, the Flying Dutchmen, kid |
| The ghost ship risin' |
| And the storm cloud climbin', yeah |
| Flying Dutchmen, shit you never heard before |
| MCs ain’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s L Star |
| Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before |
| MCs ain’t half as raw, it’s Jon Murdock |
| The Flying Dutchmen, shit you never heard before |
| MCs ain’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s L Star |
| Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before |
| MCs ain’t half as raw, it’s Jon Murdock |
| Rihanna’s umbrella was under the weather |
| You ever stomped the yard hard, you get shot in your pleather |
| Same fella, same feather, best flock together |
| Get knocked by the cops, sit in the box together |
| Fool’s gold pirate meltdown in two karats |
| Red dragon, Hannibal came tonight, a true savage |
| True bastards, spit 'em in a compost heap |
| Dutchmen crush men, roll 'em in a fanto leaf |
| I need guns and all, razors and shanks, blood and chocolate |
| Brain from a bomb bitch and a dutch to spark shit |
| Semi spit awkward, shatter glass jewels like statues |
| My rap boosts, the high energy content is natural |
| Counterpoint, harmonic frequency through the aperture |
| Of still meshed mics completely seep into the passenger |
| Previewing the massacre, plan a terror grind house |
| Tarantino premiere through these speakers, let me find out |
| Death proves Kill Bill, pulp fiction, needles stick him |
| With the Doap Nixon flow, different, no trippin' |
| Sandman sleep in a requiem for a dream |
| A nightmare in the state, prepped until you sink |
| Flying Dutchmen, something you ain’t heard before |
| MCs don’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s Jon Murdock |
| Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before |
| MCs ain’t even half as raw, it’s L Star |
| Flying Dutchmen, something you ain’t heard before |
| MCs don’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s Jon Murdock |
| Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before |
| MCs ain’t even half as raw, it’s L Star |
| MCs is bitch-made, knew that since sixth grade |
| Caesar cut afro, samurai with a fade |
| Like Samuel L, Jeff fell back with a blade |
| Side step Jon 'Deck, straight razor a lame |
| Sleep never, Oxycontin pop, Heath Ledger |
| Overdose on Monogins, you know the seat cheddar |
| Hard body, had to saw off the long shotty |
| B-Real on a two inch reel, they call me Johnny |
| Be good, Michael Fox on the stage |
| Speaker kick, steam a spliff, live my life in a daze |
| Jon hones with rhyme poems, wonderland with the summer jam |
| Gun in hand, run it fam, move like the Son of Sam |
| merciless, David Berkowitz with the verse I spit |
| .44 cal, pow, murder you permanent |
| Men panickin', once I’m on and I’m smashin' 'em |
| Amount to fuck bitches like Jen Aniston |
| Roll with bitches, pop E, roll with bitches |
| Lined up, dick hard start from pole position |
| My flow position in the vocal booth alone is viscous |
| Its own existence, stand alone, zone to listeners |
| My mic device is mighty trife just like Heidi Fleiss |
| Mike Tys on the track when I write |
| Flying Dutchmen, shit you never heard before |
| MCs ain’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s L Star |
| Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before |
| MCs ain’t half as raw, it’s Jon Murdock |
| The Flying Dutchmen, shit you never heard before |
| MCs ain’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s L Star |
| Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before |
| MCs ain’t half as raw, it’s Jon Murdock |