Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Anointing of the Sick, artist - Outerspace. Album song God's Fury, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 12.02.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Outerspace
Song language: English
Anointing of the Sick |
Let’s go! |
Space Pyscho Realm shit |
I know ya’ll hating! |
Soy un boxeador de la calle, tira y no falles |
Puede ser que mi veneno te desmaye |
Lo de vivir en la calle es el detalle para hacerlo como yo |
Para hacerlo como yo será mejor que ensayes |
Yo, I called Sick Jacken and told that nigga I’m sick of rapping |
He told me to find all the hatahs plan and get the clapping |
I’m sick of yapping I told Cynic let’s get the mashing |
We on the flight to LA squeaking in the ratchets |
Security on me like its 9/11, you betta find the Reverend |
Call your fam up and try to find a blessing |
No time for stressing only maculate versions |
You niggas bitching put your tampons back in your purses |
Shit, if Psycho betta buck down we matching the wages |
We collide wit the unit and put it back in your faces |
Nigga, back to the basics, I’m lacing my Chuck Taylors |
Who proposed to the game, now I’m getting my tux tailored |
I treat every stage like the Garden of Eden |
I’m the serpent in the trees that’ll stop you from breathing |
The vocal, pato loco from Illadel to Acapulco |
The local is locked; |
time to lick a shot to rock the global |
And I read the puto thru my recital it’s suicidal |
Accu cycle banks so heavy that we ruin idols |
And I ain’t fucking wit this new arrivals |
Man I been leaking off and on since the days of the unit rhinos |
You rival the pussy I’m cocky they push me |
I’m vynl who said, there ain’t no future for minor whino |
I wanna leave shit stained in the rap game |
So I got a sick as clique wit the wrath of Kane |
You know the name Psycho’s run it like its nutting mayne |
Where the million bald heads looking like fucking gangs |
Worldwide symphony killing spree wit a guillotine |
The shit is getting sick after clicking up wit the Philly team |
My heroin rap keeps stem going back for the trap |
I tap a vein, Jacks is the insane brain of the camp |
We run shit like when Hussein reigned |
It’s the art of execution and we shoot you sane |
Yeah, you can still catch me out in the streets, blazed up |
You know we deep and keep running them up |
I try to chill so we put the guns down |
But the streets got us by the balls |
Shit, it’s hard not to gun out |
Police keep hunting us down, they after me |
Fucking swine, they ain’t got nutting to offer me |
We pirates in all black, bagged wit big gats |
If they want some we can leave 'em rightfully stance |
So that’s what the fucks up (What's that?) |
I keep wilding like I don’t travel about the world getting my cocked sucked |
I try to cool out, my goons go out, they repping that shit |
The SS gun and burn down the house, take ova the place |
We here for good, the shit could get scary |
Like 2012 we just ain’t ready |
We all need to learn not sit around ready to die |
Fuck that, we gonna replenish the Earth |
We spit a venomous verse your head will just burst |
From Pekoe to Puerto Rico we protecting our turf |
So be easy you’re dealing wit Made-men |
Who do dirt dolo and lyrically spray gems |
Digital mayhem thru the G-5 and monitors |
Rhyme writ, hieroglyph you can’t follow 'em |
Mind spit designed sick, I start marketing |
Mic booth set on fire, who let the arson in? |
Your man got a froggy feeling you betta talk to 'em |
Pipe bomb filled wit glass to leave 'em sparkling |
Right psalms build to last watch me inside of them |
Vomiting, street crash you faggots modeling |
You run way bitch, walk I keep 'em wobbling |
That gun play let you talk who keeps you swallowing |
Blood mugs filled to the top it don’t belong to him |
That’s why they’re raising their arms singing the song wit him |