Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Chewbacca , by - Random Axe. Song from the album Random Axe, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 16.06.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Duck Down
Song language: English
Chewbacca |
| Chewbacca |
| Duece-duece Papa now rocking your shoes proper |
| True shotta, nigga you noose nada |
| My three versus your four, who crew’s hotter, Random |
| Everbody on my team is winners |
| Everybody on your team beginners |
| Why you do that, rapper |
| Fucking new-jack rappers |
| Flinch when I walk by cause I do smack rappers |
| Sean the Barbarian |
| Deadly dose of the dope shit, black tar heroin |
| The best out, bar-for-bar Pa |
| His god given talent scream Al hum du’Allah |
| You got no skills, you got no talent |
| You’re shit no frills and your bitch toss salad |
| Niggas rap albums sound like love letters |
| Pen in my hand like, damn fam, I can do much better |
| I write classics, you can’t hack it |
| You know what it is |
| In the room with the floor covered in plastic |
| Passive, never got a street-cat pay so I’m active |
| Stay back |
| I keep that blade |
| Hi, hater |
| I’ll carve a smile right next to your frown like laugh now, cry later |
| Potato on the barrel |
| French-fry ten guys |
| For major violations, call it annihilation |
| Your tough talk, I don’t get it |
| You wouldn’t fight a ticket |
| So why recite a lyric |
| Especially when lyrics get a rifle at your fitted |
| I’m sure to buck so tell Pac what up though |
| My foes better be real |
| You wanna be tough, alright you’ll forever be still |
| Still I get nicer, yet I’ll ice you |
| And rhyme with the force of a Jedi cyhper |
| Marcberg, baby fire it off |
| Split your cabbage |
| Bitch ass rappers spit garbage |
| Live lavish, Mac-10's under big jackets |
| Hit me a pass, flip that mattress |
| Remember the patterns |
| Five stay dipping in traffic |
| Parle stiff in the cabin |
| With axes, dismember a faggot |
| Limbs is scattered and littered with maggots |
| Splashed with gas, we lit up matches |
| That’s for acting real tepid and passive |
| Ya’ll asking to give out passes |
| I pull up, get out Astons |
| But never without ratchets |
| Busters feel our wrath and |
| Butlers will fill our glasses |
| Brothers ain’t up in our bracket |
| Slugs from the gattling, spin out rapping |
| Flip the casket, lyrics is crafted |
| Hit them with the plastic and then I’ll pass it |