Lyrics G.O.R. (Gods of Rap) - Natti, Deacon The Villain, Sheisty Khrist

G.O.R. (Gods of Rap)

Wolves, nigga
That’s right
Yeah
For you!
Rappers ain’t rapping ‘bout life, they got a movie feel
Fuck a rap contract give ‘em a movie deal
See I just look ‘em up and down like «will you be real?»
I’m here to shine a little light on ‘em like a movie reel
I’m sick of seeing people stuck on the same shit
This life is a bitch yo, we suck on the same tit
These rappers ain’t legit I can’t fuck with this lame shit
The truth is me and you we fucking the same chick, nigga
This ain’t rap, it’s the Shrine of the Black Madonna
In fact it’s the attack of nine black piranha
A single line separates the mind from Dhammapada
I just focus on the breath and my spine, that’s Pranayama
You keep your eye out for those who seem deranged
‘Cause some are out for blood you just can’t see the fangs
I pop in the Glock clip and let freedom ring
Even Jesus had a gang (bang!) — auf wiedersehen
Before the gods
Only one who stands before the gods
Yo, you fucking with a great deal of anger, beyond entertainment
I had my share of shootouts, holding the stainless
Couldn’t sleep, kept my ear to the streets, but I was faceless
Snake niggas put the cops onto me, just out of hatred
Had to mold my grind, expose the nod, never froze aside
The one moment will rise where altercations
Staying drunk most the time was a sign of aggravation
What was a light always a lie they started faking
So I immortalize my shine, and went for the take and the drop
Was so extreme I thought I’d die, but I made it
I was on something, blood pumping felt it all in my stomach
Flooded with hundreds, dice games, I was scrapin'
Life’s kind of dangerous it takes it turns, but it has it’s angles
Nine in the clip, one in the chamber
The God Vegas fought call to nature, broke the arms of Satan
You’d rather die for a reputation
I’m killing time in the House of David
Building the shrine from the mouse and paper
Counting dimes is my flock of ravens
All aligned in they proper places
Gabbana frames, six Glocks in they name with the diamond bracelet
I hear y’all rapping at me, I hear y’all trapping happy
Offer me tides of candy rides and booty clapping
Offer my altar your sickest Js and Gucci shades
I leave you nothing but residue and razor blades
Now take your fiction bricks and break them down to zones
This is a game of thrones played to the skull and bones
Rulers with no subjects rapping about fly shit
In the scale of my creations what’s smaller than fly shit
But y’all don’t seem to get it, or want to understand
Until a Titan is smiting with an open hand
A hair away from igniting you where you fucking stand
If my mind was an ocean you’d be a grain of sand
You the choice of the block, you the voice of the hood
But when you choose to use your voice good
You’re an abomination, I make a proclamation
You live for whips and chains then be a dominatrix