Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Assassins, artist - Pharoahe Monch. Album song W.A.R. (We Are Renegades), in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 21.03.2011
Record label: W.A.R. Media
Song language: English
Assassins |
| In 2013, the World Government placed sanctions against freethinking individuals |
| in order to force people to adhere to one way of life |
| An independently funded organization called poh pih evas nac ew dna eerf rof |
| cisum gnidaolnwod gnikcuf pots hired one hundred assassins to infiltrate the |
| headquarters where files were kept |
| Of these one hundred, ninety-seven were captured, tortured, and executed |
| Only three remained |
| The third of which was said to own an arsenal that would rival an entire city’s |
| police force |
| The second was rumored was to be able to move throughout space and time And the |
| first… (One) |
| Fasten your seat belts for the last of the three assassins on earth |
| The first flashing her purse where a heat stealth |
| They call me Jean McCoy, beast in me employed, deploy deplorable |
| Through audible destructive actions, attractive decoy |
| Then pass it to Troy after I’m passing your life over |
| He’ll deliver it through river Styx, Hades, I’m cold, deliberate, ladies |
| My foes limited, pray me some praise (whispering) |
| Stay on your toes villains, it’s Grae and your day’s whittling |
| Blistering lines packed in six, stick to spine |
| Wracked with a sick mind, trapped in thick bitch frame |
| Drug you with strychnine in nine drinks, you drunk, and it’s my |
| Kidney, you dickbrain, I’m just itching to slit veins |
| Stitch lines, Rick James, fuck yo lives, sip brains, bitches |
| Niggas, kick rocks, or kick rhymes, it’s to the pain |
| Liquor riddled liver, sieve in it, sipping it like Capri Sun |
| Ignint as ever, she’s clever, equivalent be none |
| A ball breaker, call fakers out with passion |
| You got the gall, bastard, to brawl with the broad brashest |
| The ball’s in your court, pass it — but warning — fall faster |
| Than asses with age slack on the back of a Kardashian |
| The walls crash in, you all on the floor gasping |
| The gas pour in the corridor, racking your jaws, blacking out |
| Catch Grae backing out the back door, cackling |
| Still make it back to the bar for last call |
| (Two) |
| They ask me why I’m highly regarded, this God body probably |
| Monch is a mixture of Marcus Garvey, Miles Davis and Bob Marley (radical) |
| Never skateboard slang like gnarly, more like: |
| Weed in my whip on the way to get top like Charles Barkley |
| You are hardly prepared to spar with a marksman — spark me |
| I’m Gambit with the ace of spades, a master in archery |
| Vehicular, particularly the vernacular |
| Specifically the fit so when I spit it it’s spectacular and accurate |
| When I attack I’m more legend than Acura |
| Flip Bloomberg the bird, bitch, more blood than Blacula |
| More Crip than cryptic scriptures encrypted with backwards vernacular |
| Plus sicker than most like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction |
| I am that nigga for real |
| Per capita smacking the next rapper that uses the term swag or thereafter |
| These three assassins get to ass whipping |
| Prepare to for a professional ass that can |
| Shape shift, spit, hollow tip clips mainly |
| Sick, ain’t he — mind control |
| Make you shoot your best friend in the face, Dick Cheney |
| My life is like a documentary film depicted in black and white |
| Flick’s grainy (geronimo) |
| I’m on Guantanamo Bay taking pics in a Captain Morgan pose |
| With my left foot on a pile of detainees screaming |
| «We are renegades!» |
| Fuck you. |
| Pay me |
| Two. |
| Where the fuck… no. |
| Where the fuck is Three? |
| I know. |
| I know. |
| He’s gonna be here. |
| He gave me his word, trust me |
| Yeah, but he does this every time |
| He’s gonna be here, trust me |
| He’s gonna ruin this mission for us again |
| Look, here he comes now |
| I be riding round with a stripper-slash-burlesque model |
| I make it pop like my cock in a Durex condom |
| I’m a opposite artist I find irony in going |
| From being like a stone in the grass to rocking the Garden |
| The same irony as going from fully automatic in the backyard |
| To having the whole machine behind me |
| I take my Australian bitches and show her some other thangs |
| She know my stroke is deadly so she gave me bloody brain |
| Don’t try to get familiar, if I don’t feel you in person |
| I’ll flip the script and I’ll accidentally kill you on purpose |
| The bad is what I’m flailing, I got so many furs |
| PETA gonna paint splash me when they see me no matter what I’m wearing |
| Your bitch about to open up, sniff some blow off of my dick |
| Guess you could say she on my coconuts |
| I’m on point like Chris Paul |
| You on point like an Atlantic City hooker that licks balls |
| I’m about to flip in this bitch like Dominique Dawes |
| And shut shit down like a car when it stalls |
| I am the deadliest rapper, you claiming that you flow like water |
| But really y’all niggas Evian backwards |
| Marshall hit the jackpot with this flow that I got |
| I know when I’m hot, it’s my show to stop, holding my crotch |
| My whip cleaner than Amish men in honest ends |
| Two dimes with me like I’m a twin cause I’m a ten |
| Okay… I’m in |