Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Kick A Dope Verse, artist - Kool Keith. Album song Collabs Tape, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 19.07.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Junkadelic
Song language: English
Kick A Dope Verse |
I got a brand new Ford, bright orange-yellow pickup truck |
Cruising around like I’m Johnny Espisito |
Pumping my funk tape with Stretch and B Bobbito |
Looking around for that kid who robbed Joey, oh he |
Catch another rapper rhyme slowly |
In the back of your head feel the calico M-O |
You know the X, hey hey, he’s out the hospital |
He played a trumpet in class, plus he had a fiddle |
He had a house uptown on Green Apple Road |
A human body buried monkey plus a little toad |
Scared federal bereau, fuck investigation |
No phones, no beeps, fuck communication |
I like ice cream kids, I like Carvelle |
I read comics and books, yeah Marvel |
You want to step MC’s, I’m in the basement |
Hold up mirrors to hell, where your face went? |
I walk quiet at night, through the projects |
Maybe one night look through your peephole, peekaboo! |
I got a gift for you, to fuck Santa Claus |
Open your door, face the Cenobites light |
I want the matrix of mad, I’m like Hellraiser |
(Who could I be?) |
Kick a dope verse and then we ghost |
Bobbito and yes I got the props |
Now will you crab-ass niggas just hop off my cock |
My style’s En Vouge, you’re never gonna get it |
Phonetic, kenetic, energetic flows your ears in a tournaquet |
Wrapped tightly, my raps just might be |
Unsightly, or slightly greusome |
Some groups are done, some groups run |
Many groups come, when Bob beats are spun |
Stun by the stun gun, you’re chewing my dick gum |
I stick it in your nose so kids can ridicule like Catholic school |
Second grade, Mrs. Flaherty had a tragedy |
She saw me bust a nut it was flattery |
Now I recharge my battery |
Flattery gets me where I’m going, lets me know I’m flowing |
Sets me when I’m boning |
Shit, people asks me who writes for me |
I write my own shit from finish to start |
Diminish the heart, I eat a kinish and then I fart |
A traskit, a triscit, a golden-eared biscuit |
Kool Keith asked me to rhyme and so I kicked it |
Nervous, served this, never even heard this |
Leave a hearse wordless, because I just served this |
Stretch Armstrong, my man, my mellow |
My Godfather Don, get on the mic and say hello |
It’s kind of pertinant that the venom I send 'em |
Will give 'em an enema, then I’m a prove my shit is funkier than |
Yours, when wars bend laws to make niggas figure |
I can’t rap, I play it undercover and plant that |
One word you heard no other say |
And the nut I lay to impregnate wombs to tombs |
Of larvae, insects to dissect from the ribcage |
To the solar, remember the scene of my brain make |
You shake and so when I hold a microphone steady |
To go on the collision course and send it |
When I mental with light jeans don’t read names |
I’m illiterate, consider it ripped, stripped, flipped, kicked |
Then shredded, so say «cheese"when you pictured yourself imbedded |
Headed to the fate of niggas spraying rhymes |
Like mace, terrible, I’m esoterical when I’m tearing through |
Varying the methods and shit, I never do |
I left it to Kool Keith, Bobbito, full of libido |
For the girls who need-o eight inches of tounge to eat-o, hey |
Kind of neato, so check it out |
Peace, hollito |
Kick a dope verse and then we ghost |