Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Multiple Choice , by - Linguistics. Song from the album The Writes of Passage, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 31.12.2006
Record label: acropolisRPM
Song language: English
Multiple Choice |
| B, we got the illest, sickest DJ |
| C, we got the best beats |
| D, we’re all of the above, real emcees |
| Verse 1 — IQ |
| Ripping it with viciousness, incisions with scissor tips |
| A wizard, whip my magic wand on your mom’s clitoris |
| You illiterate idiots are blowing like a bagpipe |
| And couldn’t see me with a MAG Flashlight, thats right |
| My appetite is getting larger, hitting harder, getting smarter |
| Than a Harvard grad who had the star, spitting darker |
| If you can’t handle the shit go to San Francisco |
| Manage a disco, or cruise the planet with Sisqo |
| Just don’t be sampling this flow, fuck that |
| You rugrats are getting more spins than a hubcap |
| But you suck at rapping, I ain’t sparing you |
| You better bail out now before you need a parachute |
| Tearin' you a new one, I know it gets embarassing |
| You’re barely in touch and gayer than Mr. Garrison |
| Staring into the camera trying to please the media |
| You can’t compete with the lyrical encyclopedia |
| Chorus X 1 — IQ |
| Verse 2 — Entity |
| Swinging swords and axes, Writes of Passage |
| Entity brings war to slack, kids who play parts |
| I was sent to slay hearts, my sharp darts snap all on impact |
| I bomb tectonic plates till the earth crack |
| Your mom b’est explain how she birth wack |
| Passing genes for you to spit the worst raps, weak as fuck |
| If your brain capacity peaks its luck, your technique leak spits that suck |
| You couldn’t lay a fist on us |
| My apostoles rip hostile from lips to tonsil |
| We spread gospel, so awful |
| Our trip is an artful novel that melts fossils in the brothel |
| Even my breath is harmful |
| Superhero-marvel, look at the sparkle in my eyes when I watch you |
| Ready to die, yo I got you |
| Drop the marble, hidden floors, using Marshall-Law |
| I crack jaws 'cause I’m raw, intense like scenes from Saw |
| My mic stand is a spleen from God, here to scream at some broads |
| When I’m caught hid in a place, I’m lucky |
| They let me out of the cage, against the machine like Rage… |
| I shift the stage with earthquakes kill tracks in one take |
| To see me its rare like undercooked steak |
| The metaphor for me is 'scrape', when I’m set upon hate I was told to finish |
| 'your plate' |
| Verse 3 — Kasper |
| My accursed cursive turns words into worse verses |
| And serves the first person deserving in my observance |
| In layman terms, I’m the purest, the furthest from fake |
| I remain perfect, since birth I made it my purpose to surface and stay above |
| ground |
| Around the then-emcees that understand the art that I’m a part of |
| Get cha gaurds up, cause when you least expect it |
| You could be the next rapper Kasper just checked |
| Come and test your skills I gaurantee you will not survive |
| I apply enough pressure to pry through your mind and find whatever lies inside |
| And use it as leverage against your defensive set of ryhmes |
| So why would you ever think that I wouldn’t prepare for battle |
| If I’m prepared to die, look in my eyes, your can see the fire within |
| The passion that burns as the passion that lives |
| I’m as sick as they come when it comes to spittin' |
| Off of the top or written it’s just a gift I was given |
| If its a mic ima rip it, with little or no effort |
| My flow sounds eastern but I’m reppin' the western |
| So don’t you ever compare coast to coast |
| Unless you dare to compare this pair of hands to your throat |
| My grip is like slipping in a pitbull’s jaw |
| You gotta spit a full clip just to get me off, bitch |