Lyrics Coaches - Oliver Hart

Coaches

Listen player, I think you should sit this one out
We’ll have a better game without you running your mouth
I got a question.
Any other MC’s in the house?
If you rhyme raise your hand so I know who I’m kicking out
Yo dude, I think you should sit this one out
We’ll have a better game without you running your mouth
Yo, I got a question.
Any other motherfuckers in the house?
Man, if you rhyme raise your hand so I know who I’m taking out
Hold your damn horses Charlie, this game is ours
So what you a star?
That don’t make you hard
I’ll knock your neck out that ice you sportin'
I don’t need your petty title I’ll battle you for your vital organs
Autograph 'em with a mean streak and put 'em on Ebay
If they don’t sell in three days then I put 'em out on the freeway
It’s E-Y-Easy in da heezy fo' sheezy
For does that don’t know we gon' show you how we play
So he can’t rap (whatup) step up on they ass
And give these motherfuckers a blast from the past
C the Exiddy out of the cut with some shit that I wrote
With my nigga a-e-d-e-y-e, so you know I must be dope
Whatup, whatup
Gay nights to a gay rights enslave fake dykes and gay types
Who be acting S-K-C-I-D
But really S-Y-double S-U-P
Who may bite
Then race by?
some play bytes?
I can approve the day slice?
We stay quite insane sequently
Never mundane, differently arranged symphony
Brain quickly creates
Enough data that’ll shatter matter at a
Great quakely shake to make shaky mindstates break and chain
Vividly badder patterns to smack kids
Castrate wack apes who claiming that
We ain’t only playing for this game’s victory
Little bitch, I think you should sit this one out
We’ll have a better game without you running your mouth
I got a question.
Any other MC’s in the house?
Man, if you rhyme raise your hand, so I know who I’m taking out
Listen player, I think you should sit this one out
We’ll have a better game without you running your mouth
Yo I got a question.
Any other MC’s in the house?
If you rhyme raise your hand so I know who I’m taking out
You’re under my jurisdiction
Where the purest vision: every lyricist winds missing
Wishin' he carried a pistol
It’s such a risky tourist visit
Is it a moral issue
If he came to my home claiming to own
The right to show his might
Hold a microphone and recite that bullshit poem
You ask me he shoulda known we clown clones
And take crowns from fake foes who oppose the throne
With a pen and pad I’m bad to the bone
And even better off the dome if you get me pissed and push me into that zone
You must have had the Jones to get your head thrown
Get slapped brand Pakistan
And sent back home with your wack songs
Either right or wrong
I’m still real
You’re silicon and styrofoam
Might drill a hole inside your skull
And steal ya soul, ya pride ya goals
And anything else valuable
Cause you’re an intellectual coward and I’m an infallible international
professional styler
Scholar an attitude and I don’t approve of you
Destroy you who seek joy through weak ploy to doubt us
Like we’re just part of some novices who a b-boy crew
With beepers because we was long before
Signing bitch emcees and hearing your blood attach
A razor blade
Catheters to their urethras
Reacting with wisdom
Wanna listen to your raps and then diss 'em
You’re lacking a rhythm
So I over-load with the proper techniques to hit you
I’m cruising til it resembles that of a homeless motorcycle accident victim
Doodoo dirty
Who you hurt, me?
You booboo worthy
An immediate cremation, no casket
And your mother?
Nothing but a gentle raping
Courtesy of Carnage wearing a soaked in your haemoglobin FUBU jersey
Ah-ha
Black trash that acts fast
Never having your wack ass
Hysterectomy the apollo song
That clapped all limitless
No hesitance remained at residence
Write a song called
«Fuck Eric B, DJ Abilities is president»
Sucker, I think you should sit this one out
We’ll have a better game without you your running your mouth
Ayo Carnage man, you be bugging man
Yo I’m sure these losers got the point, why don’t we just be out?
Aiiiight
PEACE