Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Tolerance Level , by - Non Prophets. Song from the album Hope, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 02.10.2003
Record label: LEX
Song language: English
Tolerance Level |
| To the best of my knowledge |
| I guess that I’m fresh and -- (yo, hold up, hold up) |
| Yo Joe Beats, what’s the purpose of you stoppin' me? |
| (I don’t know man I want you to kick the raps |
| You were kickin' a long time ago, not this emo shit) |
| Aight, aight |
| I was getting props when I first started to flow |
| Makin' this music wrecking shop like a retarded vocational student |
| Didn’t know it at the time, that the shit made me look stupid |
| Rockin' pro-black rhymes over «The Devil Made Me Do It» |
| I never gave two shits bout rockin' new kicks |
| I ain’t the type to wear something just cause the shoe fits |
| I make moves quick, to your head feet first |
| I dig women who got more to get offa their chests than wet T-shirts |
| Rep the east turf, I rip the west side |
| I’d rather eat dirt than ingest pride, my sixth sense shines |
| Less wack than Mos Def’s pitiful incense vibe |
| You couldn’t ghostwrite if your invisible ink pen died! |
| Now kick fresh rhymes, and think next time |
| Before you’re paid to be actin' |
| As an emcee I’m a character assassin |
| Paid to kill off all your made-for-TV rappin' |
| When the shit hits the fan, I’mma blame it on GG Allin |
| My tolerance level has peaked, and it’s time for heads to get flown |
| Just because I speak peace doesn’t mean I can’t throw no joints (I don’t know.) |
| Now I stopped to build a bridge during my agnostic pilgrimage |
| Lost my will to live, so I shot and killed some kids |
| I’m just kiddin', no I’m not |
| Into oral bestiality I’m just blowin' Spots |
| And I got more back than acne on the slap-happy-go-lucky types |
| Monday Night Football fanatics, asscrack addicts with thunder bites |
| Got more bodies on my mic than my pistol |
| I ain’t got a pistol but there’s bodies on my mic (bullshit, you do) |
| (It's true!) And Joe will kill you with the bullet prose |
| Throw a book of sample laws towards us, get left with loopholes |
| Take my advice: take an 8-mile hike |
| I’m down by law, like the back of the jacket on Cool as Ice |
| Who is nice? |
| Why’d you ask me? |
| For the last time, I’m nasty — like Nas was at halftime |
| You fuckin know it like I know that’s a rental car |
| Hey sucka poet, whoever ya are |
| MC, uh-uh, people don’t call you |
| Playin' catch-up with old reissues of Audio Two |
| Lots of artists got bitten, I’m not kiddin' |
| What more can I say? |
| (Bob Dylan) |
| You play the side of the stage like a broken mic stand |
| You ain’t enough of an emcee to be Jarobi’s hype man! |
| You yelled in double negatives, and couldn’t make no noise |
| Why is that? |
| Ask yourself, homeboy |
| Wanna battle me while sayin' writtens, it ain’t sane |
| You’re better off playing games of chicken with freight trains |
| I’m stickin' to the weight gain, while Dr. Atkins |
| Sticks his dietary cock into lots of my fat friends |
| Now download my manhood, memorize its measurements |
| Then lip-sync the circumference if the head doesn’t fit |
| You can use your Vulcan grip on my huge bulging dick |
| It’s the ultimate, ultimate, ultimate, ultimate, UH |
| (What does it all mean?) (I don’t know!) (x8) |