Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Trouble Man, artist - Juggaknots. Date of issue: 13.04.2019
Song language: English
Trouble Man |
| I declare war |
| The joy becomes a rappifyin weapon |
| If you step in When your draws get mobbed behind enemy lines |
| You become a sittin duck but fuck |
| I ain’t givin em livin trifle |
| The pen and pad becomes a 12 gauge rifle |
| This is no laughing matter |
| Step into this you step in a minefield |
| Your body’s scattered |
| You people drop pickin up the pieces |
| But only corny niggas |
| The attack from a brotha like the Buddy never ceases |
| Without a moment of silence the violence thickens |
| So if you ain’t got it together you slim pickings |
| Shorts and prisoners are never taken |
| If you fakin all the booty competition |
| I’m a bag fuck a white flag |
| Get down and dirty like a brotha in the trench |
| Leave a nigga dead and stinkin as he wonders what his stench is |
| I’m bustin clip after clip |
| My artillery will funk on the punk |
| When ya wanna test my shit |
| Tell it to hell is it |
| I feel my brain swell like meningitis |
| With the slightest mind motion |
| Givin me the notion |
| That I got it bad |
| I think I got a brain tumor |
| Brain rumor |
| Such a pain to analyze the strain and then understand it The seed was planted |
| That shit is ill but still |
| The thought I’m lovin got the dome growin |
| With the biscuit in the oven |
| Shovin nothin but the nutrients |
| My diet to support me A whiff of the spliff |
| A guzzle of the forty to inspire fire thought |
| To the mic there was marriage |
| Causin competition |
| Verbal miscarriage of the mental fetus |
| Greet us with the rugged rhythm then I’m showin |
| I think I feel my water breakin thus I’m flowin |
| Timin my contractions |
| Concentratin on my breathin |
| Heavin curses at the father he has the funk |
| Cuz if I flunk my shit ain’t livin |
| Pushin givin every bit of what I’m worth |
| And as the Brewin drops the lyrical |
| The miracle of birth |
| I be the sick ass brotha, nasty ass nigga |
| A phony motherfucker grave digga |
| I know this sounds rough |
| But I had enough to funk |
| So part of me the heart of me So if you corny nigga |
| It’s like cloggin up my artery |
| You cuttin circulation |
| So now it’s do or die |
| While niggas always try to test my shit |
| Only preservation of the funk is why I kick this |
| As I give a simple diagnosis of the sickness |
| Now upon the fruits of my labor |
| Your ear feasts |
| The beast from within |
| It’s some shit ain’t it The picture painted |
| From the use of a noun and a verb might disturb |
| We make you say, Damn that nigga’s crazy |
| Well if we crazed, deranged well then we fittin |
| If you say the world’s a normal place |
| Who the fuck you kiddin? |
| Your mind’s blind if you say you haven’t seen this |
| As I walk the fine line between insanity and genius |
| (*Fades out with piano*) |