Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Por Que , by - Louis Logic. Song from the album Alcohol/Ism, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 08.11.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Brick
Song language: English
Por Que |
| Jay Love |
| Louis Logic |
| Odd Couple |
| (Porque?) |
| Call me Felix Hunger, starving artist at-large |
| Independent entrepreneur, the hardest to rob |
| Hardest to dodge, till I’m offered a job |
| So call off your guard |
| I’m tryna get this loot and buy cars for my squad |
| We far from the odd, we’re a couple of nuts |
| Cuddlin' sluts, puffin a Dutch and clutchin' up cups |
| Filled with nothin' but suds so top off the shot glass |
| I got hash, it top class, I copped it just as a cop passed |
| I stopped fast, thought about it then I broke north |
| Slid up to the crib and took my coat off |
| Took a toke off the chalice in the Odd Couple palace |
| Thanks to Alice my hands don’t have a single callous |
| I think my style is different from the rest |
| I’mma spit it for a test and put the critics to a rest |
| So get it when I’m vexed or else catch when it drops |
| Either way you’ll be like, «No question, it’s hot» |
| I’m the best on the block but understand I live on it |
| Spit on it, and pay respect to those who been on it |
| Gin tonic, tonic meet gin, this is my chronic friend |
| Now that you’re introduced we can begin |
| I spin around like a record until I get dizzy |
| Black out, stumble up to the mirror and scream, «Who is he?» |
| I’m busy in the bathroom reminiscin' of last June |
| I keep talking wit' you, but I think I’m gonna crash soon |
| Why they rockin' ice? |
| Why they not rockin' mics? |
| Why do hip-hop shows turn into boxin' fights? |
| Why do girls front on you unless your pocket’s right? |
| Why 'd I spend my last buck to tip a topless dyke? |
| Why do heads gotta like |
| Shit that’s wack? |
| Matter of fact |
| Why they treat hip-hop like it’s just rap? |
| Why do street niggas front aristocrat? |
| You’ll get dissed for that |
| Why do they get away with murder on tracks like diplomats? |
| Before my track is mastered, the sound’ll shake the foundations |
| Crack the plaster, sandstone and alabaster |
| To knock the fragile rafters from an oak wood roof |
| 'Til the smoke protrudes from the soundproof vocal booth |
| Truth in the form of a musical song |
| Is like beautiful porn stars in chewable thongs |
| Cause heads get off to this, then we send 'em away |
| With their jaws hanging down like dentist offices |
| (Porque?) |
| Sick, demented sorcerers weavin' a spell |
| Change water to brew, and tobacco to weed in a L |
| Change a faucet to a beer tap, and fill a Hefty cinch sack |
| With trees until it’s stretched to thin straps |
| Who got a problem with a bottomless beer |
| That could make a pessimist smile and an optimist tear? |
| I’m probably severe as pourin' some scotch in a beer |
| 'Til I’m wobbly and weird |
| Shit, I hope a hospital’s near |
| 'Fore I OD on Old E, and stop my career |
| Hallucinate, and see little green monsters appear |
| I run with irresponsible peers, underfunded |
| Without jobs, living with moms, sleepin' in bunk beds |
| Drug heads whose lives is unkempt |
| That never get up from bed before sunset |
| We’re still catchin' dumb heads who try to front fresh |
| When you’re just half of what you could be like a chick wit' one breast |