Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Writer, artist - KIllarmy. Album song Prince Of New York, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 10.11.2008
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
The Writer |
Word up, some laid back, type Killa raps |
Yo… |
I’m a writer, rhyme ignitor |
Lyrical sniper, shoot up your rhymin' cypher |
Mushrooms get me hyper, face the piper |
Rich niggas do a drive-by in a Dodge Viper |
Aiyo, I move like the Bionic Man, built like The Incredible Hulk |
The streets listen when I talk |
You just a devil in disguise, with a mic as a pitchfork |
Come against the lyrical lord, we can take it to the guns and swing swords |
So look deep into the eyes of a killa, Gaten Island, cap pealers |
Raps is realer than silver back gorillas |
We thugs from a great complex, lyrical Nat Turner |
Staten Island money earners, 9th Prince with the burner |
Whether inspector’s, wanna search my bulletproof Lex Coupe |
Desert Eagle stashed in my fireman’s boots |
Runnin' with four hundred Brooklyn troops |
Dressed in all suits like the Nation of Islam |
Shoot somethin' in your veins and watch you die calm |
Like a dope addict, my automatic’ll lift your back like Craftmatic |
Like a cellphone with no signal, givin' niggas static |
Don’t get caught up in the hot jam, shit is a scam |
Predictable like the Wu not invited to Summer Jam |
I’m sick of niggas trynna sell me a dream with weak schemes |
Killarm', the 18, rap guns is like M-16's, everybody flee the scene |
No matter the producer, I still get looser than Medusa |
Neptunes or Dr. Dre, my lyrics, the beat’s executioner |
Inspired by The RZA, I’m calm like James Bond, city slum scramblers |
I was raised in the ghetto slammer |
9th Prince is like Max Payne and Jack’s Hammer |
I’m known to be the flow’er, but now call me Thor, let it flow like Noah |
Shoot you in your shoulder leave you with a handicap composure |
Madman exposure, got niggas movin' like doljias |
And it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, straight over |
You know what the poet said: |
«Through the travail of ages, midst the pomp and toils of war |
Have I fought and strove and perished countless times upon a star.» |
The age-old strife I see? |
Do you know who the poet was? |
Me |