Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Tha Realness , 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
Tha Realness |
| Who’s the most vicious emcee spitting sickness over verses with ill techniques |
| My skill speaks, like drill seargeants |
| I kill squads, is when I spill the hardest |
| From here to August I’m an artist, far from modest |
| How many times I promise to harvest in your conscience |
| Talking shit, constant, 'till you tell me to stop it |
| In the cockpit I drop hits from here to Compton |
| I’ll spit on your carpet, using the tip of a shotgun |
| I’m a monster when I got one, so put up your guard |
| Spit, but consider wit' caution when I beg your pardon |
| I’ma bug 'till I rock the garden |
| My cock is the size of an oxen, there’s no option |
| I’ma steal oxygen from the planet, and sniff dust off of granite |
| Rocking a jacket, that lets me transmit, pages of a pamplet |
| That knocks bandits into plywood, they casket, you bastards |
| I’m your area, I’ll bury ya |
| Scarin' ya, full of hesteria |
| More rabid than a Pitbull-Terrier |
| I’ll smoke a bit a dope and float like a herrier |
| I’d say get ready but there is no preparing ya |
| For the character, against violence |
| A giant, not using your right to remain silent |
| You want a rap career? |
| You can’t have it |
| Your not O.J., you need to take another stab at it |
| Sad faggot, when I start to rap and add magic |
| They gasp at it, like asthmatic crack-addicts |
| And laugh at at, fanatic estatic rap-static, dap tragic |
| You’ll get caught up like you’re in bad traffic |
| Dramatic, traumatic, skillfull syllables |
| Unkillable |
| Was fed wack rappers through my umbilical |
| Still filled with bullshit topics and profit off it |
| Pocket a lot of dollars while the followers jock it |
| One of the nicest alive and breathing, still in the lead with this |
| I’m pleased to leave them bleeding, pleading the fifth |
| Nobody spits like this anymore |
| I’m from the underground where clowns get torn apart, it’s the art of war |
| You want respect you gotta earn it, take it |
| Don’t expect to get it with Rolex’s or a Lexus |
| I bet your necklace on my life you won’t win on the mic |
| By the likes of you faggots it’ll be a tragic sacrifice |
| After stabbing you twice you’ll be handing your life over |
| I rhyme colder, freezing time with every line |
| Use your mind soldier, I keep mine sober |
| Goes as a lyrical show, the wit, the instincs of a King Cobra |
| I bring closure with no remorse or remission, the flow is gorgeously sickened |
| The aura glows in the written’s |
| I’m spittin' nothing but illness, skill, and resilience |
| I kill 'em with brilliance, you don’t have to feel this, but still |