| Warning, niggas got no identity
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| I’m God though, I already know my enemy
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| Concentrate properly, control my energy
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| Look at you, you can’t even hold that Hennessy
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| Never gon' like you, we don’t have chemistry
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| Old number 7, only dope act Tennessee
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| Ain’t tryna feel you and I don’t have empathy
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| You friendly to a fault and got (hello) tendecies
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| Stay around masters, with Jews and recipes
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| Taught me it’s important not to taunt my legacy
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| Spin on all the jinns who distract and menace me
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| And if you scared to death, nigga, don’t be friends with me
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| You can catch feelings and act offensively
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| But you ain’t tryna kill nothin' with that intensity
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| I know your reaction’s just an act of jealousy
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| But you talkin' to God so retract that heresy
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| I realized the guy strapped over the mailbox looked kinda familiar.
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| So I asked him, «hey, do I know you?» |
| He said, «oh well, indeed you might.»
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| When I pull out the pen I’m a wolf out again
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| Time to son motherfuckers, school’s out again
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| The flow’s distinguished
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| But Rap Genius makes it look like I don’t speak English
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| Must I space out the words like Silver Surfer?
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| To prove that I got the skill to murder, kill a verse or
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| Sell out arenas like I’m backstabbing Gilbert
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| Nurture beasts like Buffalo Bill
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| He puts the lotion on the tracks
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| Seven continents and notions on his back
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| I attack the block as if I’m John Boy, Edward
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| You tryna get your grown man on like a tomboy
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| Rush your convoy, yeah, crush your convoy
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| I laugh at them like I’m smashed of a glass of Gin
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| Or 10, drunk watchin' Jim Gaffigan with the fattest win
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| And when they go and grab the pen I laugh again
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| And it feels like somebody stabbed in my abdomen
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| So pass the aspirin, half of these rappers are practicin'
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| They get detached limbs and thrown in scratch bins
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| Cause they has-beens
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| I shatter legions in arenas, blood splattered, screeches
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| So many lines you think I’m traffickin' African zebras
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| When the track bans put us in the fast lane
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| Y’all are sounding like athletics founded Bobby Knight’s last name
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| I smack lames to snack on brain, I’m that strange
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| I pull dimes like I’m tryna make exact change
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| What gives you the right to… My entire life gives me the right, mister,
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| look at my record. |
| Now I know why you wear a mask. |
| It’s to hide your swelled
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| head. |
| Who’s that guy? |
| Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were going back to that
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| Loud in person, I’ma shoot first like Kyrie Irving
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| These silly raps getting no claps like Miley twerkin'
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| Tight verses getting your blood, no hypodermic
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| I’m highly worshipped, puttin' clowns back inside the circus
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| Rap god, rocking Jordans in a wife beater
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| Might turn the beat, the beat down for sounding like Tina
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| They soundin' like divas with dyke features
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| I’m bed-rest ill, they barely a slight fever
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| Wordplay wizard, my mic is Harry Potter’s wand
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| Czarface nominated at the Comicon, drop bombs
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| Deliver it hot like it’s Papa John’s poppin' dons
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| Burnin' blue flowers with Dr. Octagon
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| Phenomenon, John Travolta with the smoker
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| I’m straight like five sequence cards in poker
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| No sir, I am not a poser
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| My motto is bread over beef, you can call it Simosa
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| Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were going back to that. |
| The reaper is saying
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| the Devil gon' come after me. |
| Well, I’m gonna kick his butt |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Junkyard Dogs , by - JuJu of The BeatnutsSong from the album Every Hero Needs a Villain, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп