Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song War Games, artist - Living Legends. Album song Almost Famous, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 09.10.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Legendary
Song language: English
War Games |
Origin is respected but still we choose to come original |
Down from my walk to my talkin' |
Heads be out to please the king Christopher Walken |
A city with fly lingo and bad ass latinas |
Got heads on this side biting styles still unequal |
Unless you assimilate you never considered great |
Demonstrate speech from your birth place you can’t race |
Disgraced by false handshakes, these punk rap dudes |
Talk behind our back but they don’t want the feud |
A few of them seen the ads y’all helped us pay for |
Now they say what’s up in the club |
What the fuck whore |
Listen up bitch, you diss because you can’t see |
Born in California, rappin' NYC |
Influence is golden but when mics is holding |
I roll with the oath to spit what’s never stolen |
It keeps us out the mix shows and the tape decks of 64's |
Because we in the middle, we strangers to the riddle |
For DJs who play this the bravest get propers |
But most won’t even touch this unless we sign to Rawkus |
I met you twice before and shook your hand |
You didn’t feel it |
Did it for the cap but should have acted like I’d peel it |
Now I’m in the corner on the burner in the back |
Caught between the trunk bump and the motherfucking boom bap |
Bring the tune back |
You’re craps in the chop shop |
Thermometer up your ass |
That’s the reason that I’m not hot |
But I got a fever times three for every CD |
Bound to be the missing link |
For those who want to meet me at the crossing |
I’ll be the one semi-flossing |
With mega self-respect but a void to go with that |
Cause he’s employed to act like he doesn’t see the free man |
Oops that’s too much credit, I bet it isn’t the plan |
Freak of nature, I’m the stranger, you’re bad with names bra |
Change your views, I’m giving clues |
Strangest news you’re about to lose |
Blame them fools who got the tools |
I’d never consider moving out |
When it comes to the coast I’m dwelling on |
Hell if I ever switch up the weather |
To fit what these other fellas are on |
I cause a renaissance |
Renovating creativeness on this side of the coast |
Self-hatred, radio stations |
They play their shit while they brag and they boast |
It’s not about toe tagging with a rag and a magnum |
It’s all about respect |
Caught in the middle without a clue |
Legendary originality here to battle the fallacy |
Here to put it down with my crew |
Actually I’m open to any option, except belly flopping |
Over a sloppy copy of a Primo track, that’s a fact |
Action taken by middlemen |
While you fiddle with pens and pronouns |
Trying to pronounce like your pro-eastern affiliate |
When I affiliate my style with the golden state |
While you’re holding hate, claiming to hold weight |
Now, once you’ve walked in these boots |
Doing a format like that is so fake |
You’re a dormant doormat |
Wearing a whores hat |
With a horrible imitation of what you consider great |
When that’s only a bite |
Your eyes are bigger than your stomach |
So when you plummet into the darkness |
We’ll be rising into the light |
I’m anti, but I’m not anti-social |
You can feel it through my soul |
My presence through my vocals |
How the fuck they got fans |
Man them niggas only local |
Bitch we chase down the mic |
And put you rhymes in a chokehold |
I’m a pro bro, comin' fresh ain’t a problem so |
Legends' got skills |
Cause we’re always evolvin' |
And involvin' our self in the life of our fans |
Revolvin' around them like the earth on its axis |
And neva payin' no taxes man |
Firm in my shoes where I stand |
Or a stranger to this land |
With my choice of words I gain respect and proceed |
They say if you don’t succeed try, try again my friend |
Ya must make words blend within the beat then |
Make it a part of this world, make your mark on this earth |
For what it’s worth, evade the demons while they lurk |
In the envy of the jerks bi-coastal who smirk |
At the talent and the balance that shine in our work |
The suckas love to hate us and these girls love to flirt |
Stranger to the under ground, ya neva dug the dirt |
True we blowin' up fool and it hurts to be you |
Still tryin' to sound like them, just to make it through |