Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sushi, artist - Ras Kass. Date of issue: 20.08.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Sushi |
| It’s time! |
| Come here, listen, get a bar nigga |
| I’ll chop the head off you dicks like a Bar Miztvah |
| Protect your neck, clown get brass, turtle neck sweaters |
| Even Marie Antoinette had a circus right before they behead her |
| Duh! |
| What I’m saying is this |
| It’s twenty five drops to Zero, off the A list |
| Viva Las Vegas, hot go go dancers in cages |
| Live on stages, Saturday night, Jason Sudeikis |
| Take your bitch, now he crying for his pussycat |
| Throw live kittens through your window, you could have your pussy back |
| Bend words into prison shanks |
| Where the term «mightier than the sword» originates |
| It ain’t where you from, it’s wherever you use your OnStar |
| Beef just dry-snitching on Vlad TV and Worldstar |
| To tell the truth, they don’t tell the truth |
| Chocolate nigga, strawberry Benz with the vanilla roof |
| Call it Neapolitan |
| I poli (tic) against the oligarchy on a mission, composition, start anarchy |
| I son y’all niggas like the man Barkley |
| Screaming your money or your life this is grand larceny |
| Cough up the parsley, carve to the dark meat |
| With the Benz carkey it’s year round shark week |
| Ayo, come here, listen get a bar nigga |
| In the streets locked up, get a bar nigga |
| Rich or poor, give a fuck who you are, nigga? |
| Sushi, the definition of raw spitter |
| Yeah, come on, listen, get a bar nigga |
| In the dorms, on the block, drinking malt liquor |
| Black or white, give a fuck who you are, nigga? |
| Sushi, the definition of raw spitter |
| I pop out the house like Oscar the Grouch |
| Where I’m from, they C Walk, stay chalking you out |
| Where I’m from they B Walk, never walking it out |
| Shit don’t change, that’s the stuff that get lost in the couch |
| I hide dragons, convince tigers to crouch |
| Paisa’s bring the birds in, then we migrate it South |
| White foam 'round the corners your dehydrated mouth |
| Like Al Jolsen, I’m Al Pacino, al-Qaeda |
| Al B Sure but darker, call it an all-nighter |
| Y’all pinatas, knock the stuffing out of all y’all foul biters |
| I’m Spiderman, stick to bitches' walls for real though |
| You Transvestite Man, bit by a radioactive dildo |
| That’s what they call an ill rap these days |
| I’m cancer, herpes, Satan, and the clap these days |
| Live by the California code |
| Crips in the whip, somebody call it a California roll |
| Pigpen with a pen, original sin |
| When I hop in the booth wearing a cannibal skin |
| MySpace and Fruity Loops let the amateurs in |
| Still, my son’s call me Father like them Vatican men |
| Smelling like cigarettes, vodka, and Dolce & Gabbana |
| Aphrodisiac to drunk sluts smoking marijuana |
| Sarah Connor with a metal cerebellum |
| My bitches hard headed, won’t do what I tell ‘em! |
| Cause now I wanna sell ‘em, worked for Heidi Fleiss |
| Might is Right, after death comes eternal nighty-night |
| But on the other hand I let my grandma down |
| Dressing like a clown with my pants on the ground |
| Hands on the pound, thinking 'bout robbing the nearest bank |
| In a mask like The Town |
| Spit out a brown smokers loogie, rookie |
| I’m nasty like Jabba having a baby by Snooki |