Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hardcore Chemical, artist - La Coka Nostra. Album song A Brand You Can Trust, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 06.07.2009
Record label: Suburban Noize
Song language: English
Hardcore Chemical |
| I’m the problem and the solution |
| The revolution won’t be televised, it’s too gruesome |
| Too gangster, too graphic for you born-again faggots |
| My words inspire people like the Ten Commandments |
| I floss with diamond teeth, SCUBA dive on a private beach |
| Billy Idol smoke chronic with Cheech |
| I cut your tongue out for talking against me |
| My enemies' grandchildren will remember me for centuries |
| The fine line between insanity and genius |
| Murder you, I give your reality a remix |
| Humanity’s beneath us, we super humans |
| Super tyrants, super-violent, listen to the way my nine click |
| Right before I pop your collar |
| The most hated from New York like I shot your mama |
| Compare me to Amazon.com for dollars |
| Canarsie Osama, riding with a mass of martyrs, fucker |
| Hardcore chemical, gangster material |
| Tri-city machine bang in your stereo |
| Put em up, shut em down |
| Keep it raw, riding with the gutter sound |
| The thicker the plot, the quicker the shot, the liquor and pot |
| Got me higher than the Denver junkie, shocking the monkey |
| Feeding his habit, set it up, cook it up, tie it off and stab it |
| Shoot it up, feel the rush then throw up your guts |
| Nod out for a while cause the style is nuts |
| Like I’m in Roca, it’s fucking Coka |
| These other cats fake it with that baking soda |
| This is it, this is it, yeah I’m back on the shit again |
| (Slaine: Danny Boy, Danny Boy, you ever gonna spit again?) |
| C’mon homie you know me, yeah I birthed your style |
| The money-back guarantee, I make it worth your while |
| Still the Cadillac King, I don’t fuck with foreign cars |
| American, I need a blowjob and a porn star |
| Nobody move, no not one punk |
| I fuck around and pull out my shotgun pump |
| Yeah, dope motherfuckers, I came back to spit |
| Move with the hunger fueled by a lack of chips |
| When I lose my cool and shoot it’s accurate |
| Give me some room, I make yous move back a bit |
| I came from a town where the hope can drown |
| Bought a teaspoon (???) from the dope and found |
| With their necks tied up and the rope around |
| Eighties cars overheated broken down |
| Car-thieving heathen, living where no odds or even |
| Gambling fist fighters watching the kid bobbing and weaving |
| Everybody scheming, we all deceiving |
| I wrote my words on the walls of mausoleums |
| Now I stand in a position of strength |
| So I speak for those who can’t, I spit what I think |
| I’m from the city where motherfuckers were sticking the pigs |
| I rep the Irish street cats and the micks in the clink |