Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Live at the Barbeque, artist - Main Source. Album song Breaking Atoms, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 07.09.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Wild Pitch
Song language: English
Live at the Barbeque |
Street’s disciple, my raps are trifle |
I shoot slugs from my brain just like a rifle |
Stampede the stage, I leave the microphone split |
Play Mr. Tuffy while I’m on some Pretty Tone shit |
Verbal assassin, my architect pleases |
When I was 12, I went to Hell for snuffin' Jesus |
Nasty Nas is a rebel to America |
Police murderer, I’m causin' hysteria |
My troops roll up with a strange force |
I was trapped in a cage and let out by the Main Source |
Swimmin' in women like a lifeguard |
Put on a bulletproof, nigga, I strike hard |
Kidnap the president’s wife without a plan |
And hangin' niggas like the Ku Klux Klan |
I melt mics 'til the soundwave’s over |
Before steppin' to me, you’d rather step to Jehovah |
Slammin' MCs on cement |
'Cause verbally I’m iller than a AIDS patient |
I move swift and uplift your mind |
Shoot the gift when I riff in rhyme |
Rappin' sniper, speakin' real words |
My thoughts react like Steven Spielberg |
Poetry attacks, paragraphs punch hard |
My brain is insane, I’m out to lunch, God |
Science is dropped, my raps are toxic |
My voice box locks and excels like a rocket |
It’s like that y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
And that’s all! |
Fatal is merciful and they curse me |
When I grip the mic, I show no mercy |
I got heart, I rip the party apart |
From the seams and hem 'em up like bell-bottom jeans |
But you get done, you get blues like 501 |
Brothers are live but I bet ya I’m liver, son |
So let me get upon the scene and redeem |
The dream of a team, and knock 'em out like Mitch Green |
Smoke some thai weed, flow at a high speed |
Rap on off breaks stompin' like Northlakes |
'Cause I’m livin' larger than the founders of Fendi |
An Asiatic brothers that many rappers envy |
So round up your crew and entourage |
And let the God Merciful just take charge |
It’s like that y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
And that’s all! |
Some of them said (Said what?) that the Ak' should quit |
But I don’t sweat it, 'cause I’m too big for that small shit |
Like pigs when it comes to a showdown |
Huff and puff but the Ak' won’t get blown down |
'Cause I come strong rather than come at all and not be ready |
That’s what separates me from the petty |
MC’s gas themselves by drinkin' too much Getty |
And get torn the fuck up like confetti |
I’m rich and thick in lyrics like Aunt Jemima |
It doesn’t take Keenan Ivory Wayans to know that I’ma |
Get you sucker, if you bite like a piranha |
So save them preschool rhymes for the kids at Wonderama |
Point blank, period, with no comma |
Rhymes so dangerous, call for the homicide |
'Cause I knock 'em dead even when I’m at my worst |
The only future that lies ahead of them is the lights from the hearse |
Got game like a crackhead but don’t be |
Misled, I keep rappers on lock like a dread |
Knots in the head from the words that I said |
So get a shovel and dig your grave 'cause the shit you talk is dead |
It’s like that y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
And that’s all! |
I grab up girls like jacks |
Add 'em on like tax, and I’m over like Hot Trax |
As far as brothers are concerned, a pressure cooker from start |
To finish, I diminish like a Cuisinart |
Secondly, I’m sick of critics who’s neckin' me |
(Oooh, he got an afro!) Yo, but I got dough |
Why’s my name the Large Professor? |
'Cause I milked your cow: in other words, I hit your heifer |
Don’t talk about how you can break Rambo |
That’s just a bunch of mamba-ja-hambo |
Propaganda, save it for Savanda |
Joe and Amanda, Zach and Alexandra |
Don’t let the folks around your way puff your head |
'Cause you’ll be the owner of a hospital bed |
I’ll kick fire out yo' ass so fast |
You’ll be as crispy as my man Bill Blass |
It’s like that y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
And that’s all! |
It’s like that y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
And that’s all! |
It’s like that y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
And that’s all! |
It’s like that y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
That y’all (That y’all!) that y’all (That y’all!) |
And that’s all! |