Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Cypher, artist - Mark BattlesAlbum song Lost In Reality, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 16.02.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Fly America
Song language: English
Cypher |
This is not to be rewarded |
Killin' beats that wasn’t mine when all my vocals was distorted |
See King Dizzy’s no different than King James |
Cause I live to learn, the world don’t want another Michael Jordan |
Look, even though I got a jumper like Larry Bird |
With all these white girls screaming for me singing every fucking word (word) |
I can tell that you the homeboy that ain’t never riot |
Me? |
Oh I just make fashion statements almost every night |
I’m taking flights without no seatbelt on and landing |
Headed to the top and I’m leaving all of these fuck niggas stranded |
Nothing handed, we with that learning money management movement |
Save it just to spend it, do a show and then I recoup it |
Young boss man, fuck an off brand |
Me? |
I’m fuckin' on this bad bitch with a big booty and soft hands |
That wanna be my wifey when I’m off cam |
But when I’m on cam, she already know the program, I’m pro-gram |
So I roll up more grams to slow jams so we can vibe out |
We the Cadillac boys, she hop inside so we can ride out |
She turn the music up and twist the weed |
A real nigga baby, this trip’s on me |
It’s crazy how the trouble kid excel right past 'em |
Mashing it’s a habit, like fuck it, I gotta have it |
She bad, then I gotta bag it, touching her like a tablet |
My whole camp moving forward, you just living in the past tense |
Shit, I’m tired of these has-beens |
I think it’s time to cash in |
Get your weight up, motherfuck a hater |
Homie in it for the paper, get to stepping like Omega |
Weight up, wake up, grind 'til the day up |
Straight up, say what, it’s easy as a layup bahhh |
We do it 'til they pissed off |
Hustlin' like Rick Ross, dick stained with lip gloss |
(Battles! It’s Fly America!) |
Look, want the money and respect, you can keep the power |
Plan to grab the whole world, it may take a hour |
Bad hoes in bath robes when I take a shower |
Pussy sweet as presidential, call it Eisenhower |
My momma wit it, that honest living I gotta get it |
The finest women, I try commitment, then I forget it |
She riding in it but still in awe that I’m 'bout to hit it |
We got a witness, I’m spitting raw with no contradiction |
Whoa, they hating on the daily |
Used to freestyle for free but now you gotta pay me |
Career going 80 and it’s starting to drive 'em crazy |
Fly America, I’m a patriot, call me Tom Brady |
Take it all and leave the rest with 'em |
I’m done with the chatter, wanna be the next victim |
Call Doctor Khaled, got the we the best syndrome |
Undefeated, never lost like a GPS system |
Get 'em, I bet you hate that we winning |
Keep giving your opinion, it ain’t making a difference |
If you can’t take the heat, then stay away from the kitchen |
Your album name is lemonade, could be made in a minute |
Get it? |
Minute Maid, I’m a renegade |
They been afraid, I tend to blaze when I’m center stage |
Pitching game on my Clemen stain with a different name |
Pad all the walls, it’s 'bout to get insane, flame |
You could tie me in a straitjacket |
Proclaimed the nicest in my age bracket |
I’m really being modest cause I hate bragging |
Study who I am, cram like my name backwards |
Ha, it’s too much for y’all |
Hating on a nigga, so Ku Klux and all |
The pain temporary dog, I grew up to ball |
Think I’m visually impaired, I don’t see them at all |
It’s Battles |
(Yeah, you know you can’t forget the Z) |
They throwing salt in the game, nigga Skip Bayless |
On that totem pole shit, stacking big faces |
Long list of (?) from the wrist, take it |
Fly with his (?), it’s why the chicks chasing |
Naked if she with me, thought you knew this |
I’ve always had a thing for a nudist |
Riding on the strip, it’s only right I play my new diss |
Every time I hear a nigga’s song it’s like this in a new diss |
Tell me what I don’t know |
Who needs a budget when the haters handle promo |
Before they claim King Basquiat was the logo |
I stitch crack in every line, the shit’s so dope |
Never been the type to talk, we a Comcast |
Looking all directions possible, the compass |
Jean piece 'em when the bullshit don’t come pass |
(???), swear this money tend to come fast |
No dubstep but I get you beta for cheap |
The bed I land was made up by me |
My ex is PI, check all the latest to me |
Only time she touch the star, she favorite the tweet |
I’m the dude like I was robbed — take it from me |
I couldn’t tell you 'bout the time she was taken from me |
Read my pea sized proof and just take it from me |
The larger picture, most niggas need patience to see it |
(Don't forget the Z…) |
On that cypher rap shit, I’m still the awkwardest guy |
Then drop flows and serve cats with an order of fries |
When my album’s in your whip, make sure the volume is high |
‘Cause shit is fresh, they been calling me the Lord of the Fly |
I’m part samurai, part Spartan |
Part ninja with a pirate’s attitude, proceed with caution |
You wish you kept it moving after you step into warriors |
Who butt heads like pachycephalosauruses |
You won’t be standing when the fucking dust settles dude |
So now y’all know exactly what the fuck my pen’ll do |
I’m close, I can feel it in my gut, call it seppuku |
But ain’t no swords involved with all the shit I’m ‘bout to execute |
So play it cool like ehhhh, yo his shit’s straight |
Like I ain’t what you bumping at the gym while you lift weights |
I let these kids hate, then ask 'em how my dick tastes |
And write a whole mixtape on one fucking sync break |
Bitch, name a kid who could rap that dope |
Since high school, I held the pad and the backpack close |
While them one hit wonders, they could stack that dough |
They’ll be in gone in 24 like a Snapchat post |
I’m a ghost motherfucker, shit I need me a tan |
A strong drink and a model on a beach in the sand |
But that’ll come when I accomplish all the dreams that I’ve planned |
And get more radio activity than seas in Japan |
Every station in rotation, they’ll be playing my shit |
Until then, I’ll be anywhere they pay me to spit |
You ain’t got shit on what I’m gonna do |
So pump the brakes like a school bus and stop it right in front of you, bitch |
Emilio, my name is synonymous with the truth |
Like Chris Brown name is synonymous with abuse |
(Fuck the system!) |
It’s like it’s anonymous in this booth |
I be riding uptown with some mamis that’s in the coupe |
And we don’t like nobody except the clique that we rolling with |
You ain’t on the dick, I expected you to go and hold the shit |
Buzz a little bit, I ain’t have a label promoting it |
I never had a fucking co-sign, I been alone in this |
My heart’s cold, my ribs are refrigeration |
My lungs are like ventilation, don’t fuck with this Venezuelan |
(Just the tip!) |
Now y’all will get fucked with no penetration |
I be rocking All Saints, they cuts have been venerated |
Ah, our generation is drug addicted and lost |
But I ain’t judging nothing man, Jesus carried the cross |
And Mari bust it open, them Virgin Marys are gone |
If Jesus was a carpenter, license seen, he has a saw |
Street code of ethics, the code of silence |
And I seen a fiend so co-dependent on dope we buying |
They took his ass to court as a co-defendant on trial |
And they lock him up for what they should treat him for ‘cause they wylin' |
Shit ain’t never change, it ain’t gonna |
They should make my people legal before they do the marijuana |
Instead INS will be rushing us to the border |
‘Cause you can’t tax a person for wanting more for they daughter |
(It's E to the M-I, L-I, O, I’m saying) |
Whoever want it can get it, word to you and yours |
I don’t buy convertibles, you know they shoot in doors |
I ain’t to be slept on, but niggas asleep |
Like the king to be crept on, so niggas’ll creep |
Stay in your lane or get swept on, cause niggas is sweet |
Yeah he came with his weapon, for niggas to weep |
Try and name what they rep on, the niggas’ll reap |
Anything getting stepped on, my niggas’ll leak |
Shouldn’t have played, playing for keeps |
Bullshit all ya’ll talk came with receipts |
I aim, squeeze, bang and repeat |
Stain in the streets |
Think before you rap before they clap the brain out ya peeps |
Skullcandy soldier, (???) |
(???) full of shells like the Zi in Zeeti |
Let the Macaroni fly, satisfied when you bring me half of only I |
Then you laugh and throw me fire |
Pause this rap shit, been ahead of my time |
Ahead of my grind, no pawn keep a head to my nine |
Nothing in my mind made up, I made up my mind |
That’s if a nigga play us, I’m facing my time |
Want the crib (…) can find |
Hardly got living room space, haters lamp shading my shine |
From the cradle to the grave of my grind |
Filet a nigga from the navel to the waves of my nine |
My influences are cable and crime |
Making bagel designs and being a fucking tornado with rhyme |
My influences are cable and crime |
Making bagel designs and being a fucking tornado with rhyme |
I’m done |