Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Escape from Monsta Isle, artist - Monsta Island Czars
Date of issue: 31.03.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Escape from Monsta Isle |
: Let’s descend to the depths of Monster Island. |
For the first time in history, |
the order is given to evacuate New York City |
: Don’t panic. |
Everybody, just keep moving. |
We’ve got plenty of time, |
everyone will get out safely. |
Keep moving, keep moving |
: And through the now-silent canyons of the huge city… |
Ayyo |
Dilapidated graff inscribed on the building, we prefer |
Gats to textbooks—teachers and principals got stuck up |
Got an education from hustlers, gunrunners, smack-out artists |
And real-estate crooks. |
Spoken broken English |
Supplement the bling-bling rocks, naked bitches' G-string |
Pop, shoot meteorites from my slingshot, redefine |
The aerodynamics of space flight when I play the wing spot |
It’s like Sugar Ray Robinson smacking Jake LaMotta |
Verse by verse you still couldn’t get hotter, mocha choco- |
-lata, yadda, yadda, yadda. |
Pussy as sweet as Mýa, bitches |
Still getting nada. |
Thermonuclear mushroom clouds |
Sky-squatter, ATO. |
M.I.C. |
It’s like |
The Monster Island of Doctor Moreau, keep pursuing, conquis- |
-tador, drug Czar, Super Powers like the former Soviet Union |
Keep the black toast close to me like it’s supposed to be |
Fuck around, play Son of Sam, blow your brains all over your brand-new |
Leather interior upholstery. |
Glass-jaw actors |
Prepare for the chin-check. |
Kong drop a bomb for those insects |
Cock-feeding wifey while your chickenhead steady hen-pecks |
Itching for a scratch, track record—check the index |
Dealing with alcoholism, the constant threat of prison |
Still maintain balance in relationship to rhythm |
Bush is the president, but I still voted for Shirley Chisholm |
The blood of Jesus tampon-style—believe this. |
Beast’s hands |
On the fetus, speeders. |
Last Supper, fucker |
Eat this. |
Preachers dancing sleeveless on the poor |
But preachless. |
What kind of greed is this, making G’s |
Off Jesus? |
Is he a myth or does he exist? |
Is he a white man? |
Is he a black man squeezing the fifth? |
Answer: lips, fingertips, knees, and hips. |
You pieces |
Of shits, how many pieces of green is rich? |
I’m like |
Damn, this priest is a snitch, telling the police |
Who the true Jesus is. |
Could lead to this |
Face to face, fist to feet, feet to fist |
Don’t eat the fish in the sink they beat their dicks |
: How did the monsters escape? |
Die |
Thugs, die thugs, fly slugs, cry blood, eyes |
Bloodshot, slug shot, watch the blood drop. |
When |
The blood slug shot, play your porch like a step ‘cause I’m a |
Crook, ready to knock this nigga phone off the hook. |
I will |
Infect your insects when I inject my ind- |
-ex in text, Windex your chin-check |
Kong love ghetto hoes, settle those, bare them toes |
Kink hoes are tight, ride right pero slow |
Fuck with the Czars? |
You’d rather play with Devil nose or play with his toes |
Or eat yellow snow. |
Fuck around, how did them know? |
No man can fuck with Kong, Conan, KD, X-Ray |
Rodan, Megalon, smacking niggas with a closed hand |
Crisp styles let go, someone hears some missiles like Puerto |
Piss styles and petro, all you hear is whis- |
-tles and echoes |
Never let go, whether or not I’m petro |
Step to the ring swinging bricks and elbows—better let ‘em know |
Keeping it going, keeping it moving. |
People be knowing, still, they |
Be booing. |
My shit will keep blowing—see what they’re doing, leaving |
‘Em open, keeping ‘em wishing, me reminiscing, fetal |
Positions, we’re leaving ‘em twitching, seizing the kitchen |
Real or superstition, odds become even like flatlines—that's |
Fine. |
Heart of a raptor—when I attack, black, I stack |
Mine, hard like black wine after revision in prison |
See me and listen about the bloody-red skies that I’ll be kissing |
Who missing? |
: The major cities in the world are being destroyed one by one by the monsters |
: Couldn’t you foresee this? |
: We are not trying to conceal anything from you. |
The truth of the matter, |
gentlemen, is that we don’t know what has happened |
: Is that true? |
: All I can say now is we know nothing, but every one of us feels the very same |
thing |