Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Simple Words, artist - Louis Logic. Album song Alcohol/Ism, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 08.11.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Brick
Song language: English
Simple Words |
| I’ma let you know the deal, expose the real |
| I’m cold as steel, so chill and check these flows I spill |
| No deal |
| My lines makes MC’s lose they motor skills |
| So ill |
| I rhyme at your open mic and close the bill |
| I focus in and flip raps like flap jacks |
| And back track with Bono while you screaming «Where the DAT at?» |
| The rap pack |
| Pack a club like nap sacks |
| Attack wack rappers that lack tracks with back slaps |
| Well that’s that, here comes the truest prophets |
| J-Love and Louis Logic, you be stupid thinking you can stop it |
| Got food for topic, we be eating MC’s |
| Call me MC J. Dahlmer, eat the meat off your knees |
| I freak it with ease while you peeping my steez, creeping with thieves |
| Drinking the trees, my e-y-e's Vietnamese |
| Y’all be |
| Deep in a freeze, going iced out like Cryogenics |
| Go and try and set it |
| But you’re on some sweet shit like diabetics |
| «Your simple words just don’t move me» |
| «Don't make me have to call your name out» |
| «Ya minor» |
| I’m drinking beer till I’m thinking weird, suddenly disturbed |
| With two shots down next one will be my third |
| I’m a runaway, flasher, upsetting' innocent by passers |
| Cause I refuse to put my gun away |
| Buyin' beer and cigarette’s and for the underage |
| Puke into the sound booth and dive from the stage |
| I’ve become enraged, from sticky summer days |
| Of working for the man underpaid |
| I could give a fuck in each instance |
| To ever reach the distance |
| Travelling on the path of least resistance |
| Cause when the beat is finished |
| I still continue rhyming |
| With the breakthrough shit like I’m spilling into hymen |
| Logic is a sick fuck who love’s to get his dick sucked by rich sluts |
| And wipe my nuts off on their big bucks |
| I’m too mixed up with motherfuckers on the slide |
| Flipping you the bird with your mother in my ride |
| I was baptized in adulterous, orgasmic juice |
| With an attitude that’s flat lining your pulses |
| Chastised as the, ultimate cultist |
| Drink a river of liquor until my liver convulses |
| Yo I’m, switching the voltage cause these rhymes is too hot |
| Heard for two blocks in your boombox when J and Lou rocks |
| So who got, huge props? |
| Trying to diss us? |
| Oooh gods |
| I spit shit so ill I need a flu shot |
| Sharper than blue watch faces |
| But I’m suicidal |
| And liable to hang myself if my shoes got laces |
| Chilling in two hot places |
| Hades and Hell |
| Planting seeds with a sign that reads «Babies For Sale» |
| There ain’t no ladies in jail, son I can’t get locked up |
| Feeling boxed up, I live free through beats that chopped up |
| I pop up in battles and open mics |
| Provoke a fight then get ghost like Poltergeist |