| Bars on top of bars
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| Yeah, turn me up just a little bit, the beat
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| Yeah
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| I’m telling you that I patrol this emceeing zone
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| I get it popping like nappy hair when it’s being combed
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| You straight fooling, your G status—it ain’t proven
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| Should have named your CD dead body ‘cause it ain’t moving
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| I can put my bread up but who gon' cover yours?
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| Career going up in flames like a hoverboard
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| Spar you without a scar, skilled in the art of war
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| I go from zero to sixty before I start the car
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| You can’t give it to the rap game the way they needing
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| You don’t belong like a six-pack at an A.A. |
| meeting
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| Fake reputation breaker, big money raker
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| My song’s folder is thicker than two Sunday papers
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| Snake chumps get busted like a face bump
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| Straight dump because you faker than a lace front
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| I’m on fire and well seasoned like jambalaya
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| I’ll make a scene at Burger King, get your mama fired
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| Your shows are empty yet you still talking hard and loud
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| You could be a sketch artist and couldn’t draw a crowd
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| Told ‘em you holding the top spots, you liar trick
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| You ain’t gon' ever be number one like a side-chick
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| Rest in peace to your career, every one of y’all
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| I’ll put you on a t-shirt like I was Underdog
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| I hate to change the subject but something I want share:
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| I ain’t gon' lie your woman’s hair need Obamacare
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| My intellect and work ethic makes K a winner
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| You keep talking and I’ma snap like I’m playing center
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| I’m pretty friendly but don’t take it for granted and slip
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| If my CD ever scratched the whole planet’ll skip
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| I might sit down and write ‘cause I’m the truth kid
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| Or maybe come off of the head like a loose wig
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| The abolition, the tactical practitioner
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| Fixing to lose my cool like a broken air conditioner
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| I keep climbing that’s why my skill’s better than theirs
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| You couldn’t reach another level if you walked upstairs
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| While you keep harassing me I’m tryna concentrate, the beat is on
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| Act like you working at a bank and leave me alone
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| You tryna put me in a verbal diss
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| You bout to mess up bad like a heart surgeon with hiccups and a nervous twitch
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| You bring these common fools, you gonna lose
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| See I’m that dude that where I’m at these dumb rappers hate to be there like
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| summer school
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| Revenge is sweet and I was born raw
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| He walked into his door and saw me pissed off with his grandpa in an arm-bar
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| Not many who go to war with me have gone far
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| I’ll open you up from a distance like OnStar
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| You’re just a liar with a pointy nose
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| Your flows used to belong to other folks like Salvation Army clothes
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| See me team is strongly represented
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| I’ll make your eyes scream like Visine with cayenne pepper in it
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| K-Rino the great flowing self-made poet
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| My music’s so dope that a klepto even paid for it
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| Now you’re conspiring to wipe me out entirely
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| But I’m so fire that your ghostwriter tried to hire me
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| I’m laying in the cut, waiting for my rival, G
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| Kicked everyone off the planet ‘cause I like my privacy
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| Play me on your car radio every strong line
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| And like powder I’ll be in your system a long time
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| I’ll call you on the phone and explain stuff
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| But if I put you on hold for a week you better not hang up
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| I grab you by your neck aggressive and vicious
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| And keep sliding you like I’m holding a phone going through pictures |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Raising the Bars , by - K Rino. Song from the album Universal Curriculum (The Big Seven #1), in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп