Lyrics Foreign Lands (Studio) - Kreators

Foreign Lands (Studio)

The main attraction, the main event
Kreators came for action, drama suspense
Worldwide scorpio killer
Hundred yards down the road
Seven cards straight flush card dealer
Born loser future drug and alcohol abuser
out maneuver through traps and move past
Nowadays rappers wanna eat oysters and bad Rolls Royces
Fuck that I get established, make different choices
Live distinguished worth 1200 golden fingers
Have bitches coming from CunninLynguists
We all fighting
Some with mic’s writing some pass the checks with fake license
To skip indictment
In '99 new jacks are too corny and too horny
I bring it live like FBI true stories
You got nothing new for me it’s 2:40 in the am
I stay in in the studio creating
We came to make y’all understand
That it’s all about beats and fans
Kreators touring foreign lands
Spread the word out, we touring foreign lands
I rose in the east, draped in ghetto
To rain fire like in the face of Richard Pryor
Stomp your chest 'til your lungs flatter than a tire
You’re quoting the Messiah throw rap and piano wires
Some rappers are good biters their pens catch arthritis
Whosever lyrics the tightest, hires the ghostwriters
Too raw you can’t smoke or sniff us
And we splash semen in the face of your favourite bitches, uh
Vocal napalm, the bomb this is
Jaysaun, remember me?
Newspapers and dead fishes
And dynamite for all haters and critics
No cards, you write diddicks
You come back short like and overhyped
We can ball a fight
Right when you’re seeing daylight I swipe that mic
And then torture whole and all sorts of sports
Whatever your brain thinks, next burn them thoughts
For the cash and checks
I talk more shit than tourette’s, me, G, Big Juan and X
Throw to the rocks, baby the
My click gets looser than a stretched V-neck
95 percent of the rotation I don’t need
Low key, like I was on probabation of sold weed
Live locally and think Globally
See what you’re worth when this beat get a hold of me
You moving slow when my crew is passing
On the way by, swerving your lane sending you crashing
Every lyric you drop in closed caption
Cut short in their prime like Bo Jackson
I got a method far from tame or domestic
All I need is a beat to let my pen spin
Went from a prentice to pulling teeth like a dentist
Certified chemist and mic menace
I use my mic like a pager, shaking niggas
And use my like a razor, scraping niggas
Carve a K on your motherfucking back
You under attack like Iraq
Finished bombing this track, then leave a booby trap
For the next rap act, group of singers
Trynna get open or lose your face and fingers, what
I got plenty for any, that offend me don’t come out against me
My freestyle’s like a colt that’s never empty
Born wrong with the gift of song
It’s inside me to guide me, Big Juan
That’s why it’s hard for me to be bragging
Imagine one day you sagging the next you have a pearl band’s wagon
And that’s my hussle, my brain’s like a muscle
Juan the Antipope, or work a track like aerobic
On any opponent, I’m only here for the moment
So I’m all up on it, at the studio like I own it, what