Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Battleaxe, artist - Madchild. Date of issue: 27.08.2012
Song language: English
Battleaxe |
| Watch a misguided angel bust |
| Like I’m on red devil angel dust |
| Man I play off the pain |
| Bear witness to the chaos that reigns |
| Of course I’m insane |
| Of course I’m gonna course through your veins |
| I’m a beast, you can’t get rid of my name |
| Spit lit propane |
| Dope fiends, this is cooked cocaine |
| While I’m tryin' to touch these kids like Kurt Cobain |
| I guess that’s why I fuck with pills that could hurt your brain |
| Chop through the track |
| Talk like I walk with an axe |
| Confident rap, no argument, I conquer with that |
| King Kong stomp through the track |
| Armed to attack |
| Come see the concert, I’m a monster with that |
| Faceless one |
| Patience till it’s done |
| Shine bright, Shane could change places with the sun |
| Little savage in the states, I’m gettin' gradually known |
| The poet king is finally back on his throne |
| I’m glad to be home |
| Man, we got this |
| Locked, kept under wraps |
| The best kept secret leakin' through the crack |
| Man, we so close |
| We stay lookin' for traps |
| And try to stay separate from these cats |
| It’s Battleaxe |
| Man, we got this |
| Locked, kept under wraps |
| The best kept secret all across the map |
| Man, we so close |
| We stay lookin' for traps |
| And try to stay separate from these cats |
| It’s Battleaxe |
| Yo, kids try to kick it like it’s A.Y.S.O |
| I’m World Cup, Copa Mundial, so let’s go |
| Catch me killin' clubs or rippin' shows al fresco |
| Right in front of the bar like Pablo Esco |
| I’m a narcotic fiends go for the dope |
| I learned to secure position then go for the choke |
| I used to have a handle on life but it broke |
| Now I’m ghostriding Amsterdam flights for the smoke |
| Still you know my work ethic is strictly 'get busy' |
| They think I’m a teddy bear until it gets grizzly/gristly |
| Rappers wantin' beef, leave 'em in a meat locker |
| Fly around the world, line around the block to see Raaka |
| Money talks, sings and raps |
| Dilated out for more titles, rings and plaques |
| Sounds classic, like Chuck D and Cadillacs |
| While my Vancouver cats keep swingin' a Battleaxe |
| Yeah, Battleaxe like Golden Axe |
| Gilius Thunderhead, dwarf competition |
| You’re all hobbits to my optics |
| I’m talkin' microscopic, termite dandruff |
| And it’s from my vantage |
| Better vanish 'fore I open fire with these cannons, somethin' mammoth |
| Flow like that Flying Dutchman |
| Best who did it, done it, do it |
| Nigga no need for discussion |
| Kick hits, split yo shit just like I was Zohan |
| You niggas bitch, pussy shit, stealin' shit so I guess that makes you Lohan |
| Get ate like ??, niggas you are not that poppin' |
| Slightly carbonated, pop your top, your fizz is quickly stoppin' |
| Parkinson’s Disease in a Delorean, forever rockin' |
| And when I roll nigga, I lean so cool like Steve Hawkins (Battleaxe) |
| Nigga I got this like uh |
| I’mma pay the tab |
| I got this like, «Whoa, back up little homie, I’mma beat his ass» |
| Steppin' with my weapon, reppin' westside man |
| While real niggas don’t fuck with 'Pac holograms |
| I sit alone in my four cornered room |
| Wick burnin' till the wax drips, torchin' a spoon |
| Feelin' nervous while The Clash spins |
| Joe Strummer fought the law pickin' at strings |
| And we’d rather bail/Bale then spread our Batwings |
| Dark Knight, off light, Corey Hart, seein' dark all night |
| Time to let my battleaxe swing |
| Despite all my rage, I’m a rat in a cage |
| With a plan to escape out the basement |
| Walk through the fog |
| Grapefruit balls in my drawers |
| I’m a Hobo With A Shotgun, whistling a 'Pac song |
| Shot a cop car with a flurry of Who Got The Props, get it? |
| Sick so, dope sick, no fix, no spit, so syringe inject slow |
| The king of rock OD’d |
| The king of pop OD’d |
| So what’s God got in shop for little ol' me? |