| Well I think I’m going out of my head
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| Yes, I think I’m going out of my head
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| I think I’m, think I’m, think I’m…
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| Life’s a bitch then you never come back…
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| Yo! |
| peep the realness…
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| I’m a shadow of my former self
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| So as the sun sets west
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| I rock and slap box with hip-hop;
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| Cuz its much harder to get props than it is to fall off and flop
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| I payed my dues 'till I paid do nots
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| And never will what you say affect the outcome --
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| See, momma always told me opinions are like assholes;
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| Cuz everyone got one
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| But you couldn’t tell me shit if I stepped in it
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| Once I enter psychosis, paranormal, focus I perplex niggas and niggettes
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| I play this rap shit closer than gilettes against the neck and jugular vein
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| Blowing out my own fucking brain without lead projectiles
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| Bled when I project styles and meanwhile, existence is a life sentence
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| And since I’m broke I take the risk, forced to hustle
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| 'Cuz raw power moves, require muscle
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| Knowing I’m going out trife
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| Already got one strike, two more and that’s life without possibility of parole
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| Having to stroll in my shoes ain’t easy
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| Lookin' forward to 3 hots from a cell block fuckin' my fifi nigga feel me?
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| 'Cuz if it ain’t the cancer sticks I hit this hypertension’s gonna kill me
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| And fuck a platinum plaque, all I want is a niggas dap
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| And enough snaps to put clothes on my daughters back Steph
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| See this without an optometrist
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| I’m stuck in the middle of this bitch —
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| Like ya momma’s gynacologist
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| Make a radio hit — headz criticize it;
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| Underground classic — nobody buys it:
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| So, rap is fucked
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| And everything blowing up sounds redundant
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| But money talks and bullshit does 9 flat in the hundred
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| And goddamn if I don’t slam my wallets in danger
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| So I’m coming out like unborn baby’s with hangers
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| And chronic stress is contemplated
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| So fuck being high Ras Kass is elevated
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| Well I think I’m going out of my head, reelishymn, reelishymn
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| Yes, I think I’m going out of my head, reelishymn, reelishymn
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| Well I think I’m going out of my head
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| Yes, I think I’m going out of my head
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| Who can I blame 'cause my skull can’t contain these thought waves
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| My syntax hydroplanes as though my brain
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| Slides over liquidated grains of asphalt caught cranial calluses
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| Over analysis leads to paralysis, mediocrity my nemesis
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| Try to fuck every radical feminist I meet, call it engage and defeat
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| That’s the reason why black men hide in the womb, homes
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| 'Cause life is all taxes and tombstones
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| So as flesh and bone I zone
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| My thoughts explode with rap shrapnel
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| Syntax that’ll wax whack rappers into the past
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| At present, the future
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| Of Ras Kass lies in the skull like the coronal suture
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| So I write truly fat shit for the core audience
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| But sometimes I wonder does it really exist?
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| Cuz true lyricists in hip-hop Joe Public be dissin
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| Niggas can’t relate
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| Elevate and its treated like elevator music
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| Cuz' nigga don’t listen
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| But ridicule is the burden of genius
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| Have you ever seen this socioeconomic guillotine rip?
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| A nigga’s hopes and dreams
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| And now I’m lead to believe that life is all about CREAM
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| I’m living a life idealistically, principle over profit
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| But realistically good intentions are microscopic to fat pockets
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| Exploitation is the world’s oldest occupation
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| And it’s the task of Jamaican chicken when a nigga gets jerked
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| Making me to revert to verses —
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| Versus snapping like your neighborhood post office worker
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| (Yeah before the Source and Rappages)
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| Niggas said my rhyme wasn’t fly
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| Now I have the juice like Omar Epps and Crooked I
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| Fools be on my dick like foreskin
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| But what before then, so now when niggas prop me I’m skeptical
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| Because this rap shit is extremely unethical
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| And with slight notoriety comes anxiety
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| Now I’m supposed to play celebrity when nobody celebrated me at my D.O.B
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| And label reps wanna play me;
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| But I’m familiar with record company rule #4080:
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| Fuck Luther and Sade
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| For taking food out my babies mouth denying sample clearance
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| I’m losing my mind, outer body experience
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| It’s Paramount, I say it ain’t all good though
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| So fuck the world with an AIDS infected dildo (doggy style)
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| Life’s a bitch named monogamy -- you only get one --
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| I’m trapped in this path of pathology
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| And I think I’m going out of my head, check it, reelishymn, reelishymn
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| Yes, I think I’m going out of my head, check it out, reelishymn
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| Reelishymn
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| Well I think I’m going out of my head, reelishymn, reelishymn
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| Yes, I think I’m going out of my head, it’s the reelishymn
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| Well, I think I’m x 7, Yes, I think I’m x 7… |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Reelishymn, artist - Ras Kass. Album song Line 4 Line presents… Soul On Ice… Revisited, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп