Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mayday, artist - Natural Elements.
Date of issue: 31.12.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Mayday |
Whoever is on the front line is gettin' struck first |
We mercenaries, fuck turf |
Every verse is varied, I bust first |
Mayday, Natural Elements controllin' the ship |
Rollin' a spliff that’ll probably put my soul in a twist |
But I remain bonin' a bitch |
Got her buck-naked posin' for flicks |
Actin' like she was never known for the shit |
But I look over the shoulder and see the enemy lookin' |
Physically strong but mentally shooken |
And for penetentiary bookin’s this shit happens |
Get orders from my nigga Charlemagne the ship Captain |
You sound like a bitch yappin' |
This shit is all Natural to us |
Like blowin' endo out the window in the back of the bus |
I move back and I bust |
Rapid fire |
You actin' flyer |
Now your family’s in black attire |
With mad desire |
When we caught you in the line of duty |
You had it in your mind to shoot me |
But every soldier of my kind sollutes me |
Now I’m reclinin' with a Lucy |
All of my niggas |
Smoke it down to the filter |
Holdin' a frown with a picture |
You smell the smoke when I walk past |
You saw blasts |
You should’ve known about the drama in my warpath |
Chorus — Mayday Mayday, raise the white flags, time for the payday |
Payday, and it’s like that, out shit is World Wide, North, South, East |
And West, put on your shield, lets see who’s the best. |
Repeat 1x |
Verse 2: (Mr. Voo-Doo) |
You feel the burnin' emission |
You squirm in submission |
No terms and conditions |
Ya’ll confirm my suspicions |
That ya’ll are bitches that resemble Men |
Like female Tennis players at Wimbledon |
Why you tremblin'? |
Shook like the ricter |
My voice raise waves |
And make ya’ll change ways like crooks turnin Muslim |
Blast shots burnin' your Bosom |
Like bitch cramps |
You got lucky your people told you switch camps |
Or get damp with plenty led |
I’m like a beast with many heads |
Sort of like the Predators dreads |
I got more arms than Dr. Octavious |
Rock your whole block radius |
I be the bomb |
And I bleed nitrogliceren if you slice my palm |
The Don been gone for how long from the rap biz? |
Wet more domes than John the baptist |
When the gat spits |
It ain’t over 'till the last man’s limbs |
Are twisted like he was doin Yoga |
In fact my Pistol’s longer than the Jokers |
I ignite Mag’s |
Leave your toe wearin' a white tag |
So, ya’ll niggas better raise the white flag |
Verse 3: (A-Butta) |
I swear there’s a war brewing in the air in New York streets |
You talk beef? |
Catch a swollen melon |
This ghetto rumbles, with loaded weapons, nowhere to run to |
We mega high, jet in the sky, dropping bombs |
Prepare to crumble |
As we rock on, beware the jungle, with Anacondas |
Don’t puff too much, cause adversaries smell the Marijuana |
We blasting every object in combat with honor |
So yo, remember the agenda with the plan of action |
No retreat, no surrender, keep the cannons blasting |
We blowing heat 'til each member of your fleet are has-beens |
Soldiers banging, whose click’ll get done? |
My crew can taste victory, from the tip of the tongue |
Who gets laced physically? |
Take the clip for the gun |
And put it in, cause when it’s on, how many niggas’ll run? |
You said we couldn’t win, bullets in ya flesh, cave in your chest |
You pulling for breath, I’m claiming your death |
You shouldn’t’ve stepped |
War paint on my chest, fatigues green and black |
The heat reacts |
To make you bleed like hemophiliacs |
See me strapped, heavily armed, repetitively |
Releasing caps 'til the enemy’s gone, definitely |
My people pack metal for me, let a legend be born |
I declare war, (What mothafucka!) and it’s on |