Lyrics All I Know - Madchild, Krondon, Evidence

All I Know

Yeah that’s that shit
I’ma spin that back
Madchild
Yeah, I like this shit
Yo
When I start writing, having all-nighters
Writing ‘til I feel like I’ve got fucking arthritis
Little King Kong, strong song writer
I’ll get some shit out my chest like I’ve got bronchitis
Mortifying, open up and then it’s more to fire
Horrifying, not quite bipolar but borderline
Bruce Lee spitting profusely
Gifted like a spruce tree
Banging out another verse on loose-leaf
Blue beast, hanging while I’m soaking up my new seems
Switching up my routine.
Taco’s ‘stead of poutine
Tried to take a flock of my Canadian geese
Duck, I’ll put that goose down, Canadian fleece
Evidence
I feel this (In my soul)
I got it (In my soul)
It comes from (my soul)
And this is (my soul)
Krondon
From their filers ‘fences
Throw in the towel
Leave your body singe’n
You’ll probably need a fire engine
Seven senses playing miles, never give it interest
Stressing their opinion, it’s in bless their vision
Twisting up my escape mission, the lights off
Door knock, the weight in my pains
Visit the Shell Shock
Nu buck Timberland
Dead stop, the crew cut
Jaw head, Johnny the jump to the dreadlock
Two jerk chicken and rum
Punch the pestilence
False prophets fumbling
Fun funds to let me just
Good play, now it’s a bad run
Your leg broke
Black Benz minus the patrol, the slow poke
Paralyzed breathing with no pulse, but of course
Sit and sip from the safest source cup I keep away from Satan’s course
Banking on the better force
Outvoted by the people’s choice
Evidence
I feel this (In my soul)
I got it (In my soul)
It comes from (my soul)
And this is (my soul)
Madchild
That last mixtape from Belly was a beast
I still got hunger in my belly, I’m a beast
Started at the bottom, keep climbing to the peak
Underground but still got gold and diamonds on my teeth
Holy smokes.
Feel the spirit, that’s the Holy Ghost
Life’s a rollercoaster, lucky that I didn’t overdose
Sharp and venomous as fuck.
Watch your cobra boast
Fuck with me, you’re comatose
Thousands of ‘em over coke
Bitches by the boatload
Lining up, I keep those
But it’s just catch and release if she can’t deep throat
I like this new shit, the psycho is adaptable
Spectacular.
Tap you on the back and crack your scapula
Soul controller drinking Coca-Cola with a broken molar
White PS4 with four remote controllers
I mass murder with these words, there is no shortage
5'7″, when I’m right I’m given short notice