Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song W.O.W. (With Out Warning), artist - PRhyme. Date of issue: 15.03.2018
Song language: English
W.O.W. (With Out Warning) |
| Put the rap game on a crutch |
| Blow the spot without warning |
| You get no chance to back down |
| Put the rap game on a crutch |
| Blow the spot without warning |
| You get no chance to back down |
| Hop off my Harley Davidson lookin' like I just got hit with a cool stick |
| Cherry red boots, cigarette lit and aggravated |
| How come it’s to this dirt road, moonshine trailer trash trooper |
| Everyday’s a party, happy belated |
| If you smokin' marijuana with your mama at 12 |
| Then we either related or related in jail |
| Street thangs, stealin' Hondas for them Asian gangs |
| Hopefully Yao Ming’s little sister would give me brains |
| That’s street cred for the uncredible nobodies |
| I’m a Bon Jovi look-alike, bitch, I so got it |
| Loud it, Catfish Billy, get stoked shawty |
| And I shined up the bowties up that box body |
| And Alabama knows it, travel the world with my slangs |
| Some of them don’t get the slang but Alabama knows it |
| I’m sweaty funk, humidity punks |
| Fish hook in the hat, dirty Louisville bat |
| Lips chapped, I’m country hard |
| Put the rap game on a crutch |
| Blow the spot without warning |
| You get no chance to back down |
| Put the rap game on a crutch |
| Blow the spot without warning |
| You get no chance to back down |
| Ain’t nobody fresher than 'em |
| And dealt with more pressure than 'em |
| Never mess with niggas whose image is skinny, stretchy denim |
| Just remember everyone who with me winners |
| Everyone who with you dinner |
| Bitches switchin' quick as Bruce and Chrissy Jenner |
| Chrome rims on a whip just to shine on niggas |
| Black tires, the lip white, Tyrone Biggums |
| Giving out turkeys on Thanksgiving like Nino with us |
| We even passin' out TVs like Wendy Williams |
| All I know is that I’m the wild child |
| Y’all don’t want no smoke with these bars |
| All y’all niggas know is y’all SoundCloud |
| Hypothetically say I’m pissed, I would definitely AR grip |
| I would definitely spray y’all quick |
| If y’all expectin' me to hesitate to shoot this bitch |
| Then y’all are definitely in the playoffs with J.R. Smith |
| I would definitely put my hand in your pocket |
| But not the way you want |
| I put your whole family in boxes like y’all the Brady Bunch |
| Put the rap game on a crutch |
| Blow the spot without warning |
| You get no chance to back down |
| Put the rap game on a crutch |
| Blow the spot without warning |
| You get no chance to back down |
| I go bananas, too miraculous to react to mortal mammals |
| Cookin' crack in my new velour pajamas |
| Gettin' back to my roots, rap where I stored 'em hammers |
| Lord of Grammar, my IQ’s my actual portal panel |
| My IP address is my dressers drawer |
| I ain’t stressed unless it’s war, I ain’t said shit, less is more |
| I bet you you’ll die less than my irons legend for regrettin' gore |
| Ghost whiter than the driven snow and it’s headed north |
| Lookin' like it’s for the seven floors, flows are metaphors |
| Buried skulls all over the globe like a Stegosaurus |
| My rifle kick back when it get blazed in the sky |
| I’m a classic, I get dressed playin' Aquemini |
| Don’t do some shit to get your wifey kidnapped |
| Have you on Twitter beggin' for your bitch back like Sage Gemini |
| Why these niggas gettin' their hair dyed and they nails polished |
| I’m like Biggie and Pac trapped inside of Big L’s body |
| Rhymes I create a knock out ya gold tooth |
| Battlin' me is like fightin' a gorilla in a phone booth |
| I wreck mics and drop the cool speeches |
| Nowadays rappers think they motherfuckin' schoolteachers |