Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Testing Me, artist - Page Kennedy. Date of issue: 26.01.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Testing Me |
| Fly like I was born where we hard pressed |
| Press hard, but we’re all blessed |
| Progress through the odd stress |
| Small steps toward a large quest |
| God’s breath through my jaws blessed |
| My arms stretched to the stars |
| Mars ain’t a large step |
| My palms sweat |
| My heart wept |
| My art’s left |
| My thoughts catch bizarre messages |
| God text |
| Beyond flex |
| It’s Complex |
| Let’s Vibe out |
| I watch my ex excel at being a loud mouth |
| We could do this shit smooth, people |
| Time out |
| Or when you effin' see me that’s a round house |
| Really. |
| who let these clowns out? |
| You the type of nigga that we turned out |
| Bitch I’ve been the best thing you just found out |
| According to my weed I’m a loud mouth |
| I pull up in some shit you had to sound out |
| Give a nigga an inch, he try to take a mile |
| Test me if you want, I’mma take yo' ass out |
| You ain’t really trying to see what that life 'bout |
| I try to be cool but these fools just keep |
| Testing me |
| They’re testing me |
| They’re just, testing me |
| Keep testing me (ey!) |
| Testing me |
| They testing me (ey!) |
| Testing me, just believe me that I’ma just shoot |
| Better duck my nigga |
| That ain’t no hard hat |
| That’s a snapback |
| Better duck |
| Cartier, Petron |
| Partyin' far away from home |
| I’m living the movie that’s on repeat |
| Call me a modern day Stallone |
| Alone at peace |
| I swear to Christ if God didn’t make these zones |
| When I’m on these beats |
| When I vibe and make these songs |
| That, I can die when I’m gone to sleep |
| I bring the threat to your porch step |
| Had death hangin' at your door like a hornet wreath |
| If we don’t respect you |
| We expect you to be, on your knees |
| 'Less you wanna meet |
| Put your testicles on the street |
| We don’t catch you |
| We just gonna just leave |
| What’s left of your nephew, on your niece |
| Phony niggas with death wish with devils of their own |
| Their own home in alleyways |
| Their own shovels, dig their own shallow graves |
| The hitman came down the chimney like Santa |
| Now their whole family’s slayed |
| Man, it’s crazy |
| My homie’s got chrome fetishes |
| Anyone on and shining |
| We coming to collect it like Con Edison |
| Stone as tyrants |
| Trauma sirens |
| All this violence around til' karma calms it down to silence |
| Give a nigga an inch, he try to take a mile |
| Test me if you want, I’mma take yo' ass out |
| You ain’t really trying to see what that life 'bout |
| I try to be cool but these fools just keep |
| Testing me |
| They’re testing me |
| They’re just, testing me |
| Keep testing me (ey!) |
| Testing me |
| They testing me (ey!) |
| Testing me, just believe me that I’ma just shoot |
| (Too, too, too, too, too, too) |
| (Too, too, too, too, too, too) |
| (Too, too, too, too, too, too) |
| Not for nothing but |
| Keeping up with the Kardashians will get your ass shot |
| See the correlation between Kardashian and ass shot? |
| There’s no correlation between me robbing the stash spot |
| That’s a dick move when I split dude |
| I hide the body like a mascot |
| I’m seriously joking, but have you ever heard of the Dream Team? |
| King Los, Royce da 5'9″, Idi Amin |
| Idiot I mean |
| Page «PK» Kennedy |
| You ever been burned to the tenth degree? |
| Then mention me |
| And I’ma give you that hot fire that’s super hot |
| Like you be sipping soup a lot |
| Soon as you scoop it out the pot |
| That hot fire like Curry when they let him shoot a lot |
| Have you trade bodies with 2Pac, and you get shot |
| I’m the perfect storm mixed with the blood of Jason Bourne |
| Solution, and that’s what I call a flawless execution |
| The Drive by shooting like Klay Thompson was from Compton |
| I won’t lie by doing nothing if you wanna' be starting something |
| I wanna bring it back and slow it down, but that be too conceited |
| Food for thought, they feeding you this bullshit and you eat it |
| When I shove it down yo' throat |
| So you know that’s all that she wrote |
| Shit don’t float around on this boat |
| Pull this heat from out of this coat |
| Then I’m firing off on that ass every day for about a week or two |
| Think it’s over 'til I pop up again like Pikachu |
| And take a peek at you soon as you reach I leap at you |
| Then do what the reaper do |
| Peep your heart, take a piece of you |
| And right before I let release of you |
| I’ll leave a hole big enough in your chest to spin a pizza through |
| Yeah! |
| Give me my props! |
| Viola Davis, teach you how to get away with murder like the cops |
| We goin' ride around in this truck, and we really don’t give a fuck |
| Unless your ironing a four leaf clover, nigga don’t press your luck |
| Haha! |
| I’m quite regal, I fight Diesel, your life Smeagol |
| They mad leaving these pussies tight, I’m like Kegels |
| If Trump wins, I’m Russian, out of the country |
| Packing lunch-meat, headed to Turkey, won’t be hungry |
| Had a cow in India, slaughtered the beast |
| A chick from the Czech said it was poppin' in Greece |
| Popping in grease? |
| Fish frys, French Fries |
| Trying to get the cops to release ten guys, stop the police |
| From killing us and fill us with villainous bullets that drill in us |