| Haha. |
| Yo. |
| DC, yo… it’s 'bout time we connected. |
| Hahaha.
|
| R.E.K.S. |
| Let’s go. |
| Haha, Lawtown. |
| Massachusetts.
|
| 'Bout to be a problem y’all. |
| You know, I know. |
| Haha. |
| I know. |
| Yo
|
| Feel it’s imperative, rappers get they sedatives
|
| Record is, definition, given in the dictionary
|
| For spittin' so effortless
|
| Every breath is, as if, I’m the game of Tetris
|
| Hold any block down
|
| Name any block 'round, I connect with it
|
| Legendary street etiquette
|
| Boilin' kettle with, steamin' rhetoric
|
| Aimin' taunts at the faults of the hecklers
|
| Let go ridiculous metaphors I was meant for this
|
| Shit
|
| Spit tighter than virgin vagina
|
| The kind of rhymer blind ya with the necklaces
|
| Dr. Jekyll/Mr. |
| Hyde before I let off with this
|
| (Kiss kiss) Bang bang
|
| Man, I be on some shit kid
|
| Knight Rider with the army on ya, owe ya honor
|
| I was tryin' to calm him but he felt he had to touch the sauna
|
| Told him good karma come upon you like tsunami waves
|
| Forget the problems it’s peace
|
| Two fingers waved
|
| Don’t add insult to injury
|
| Hurt yourself fuckin' with R.E.
|
| K.S., yes Reks a vet, sorry
|
| All these rappers ain’t shit next to me
|
| Ya see, rappers hyperventilate
|
| When I’m in a spittin' state
|
| Innovate rhymes, put your mind on the dinner plate
|
| Ain’t a fuckin' line in my rhymes niggas can debate
|
| Spit them 8 by 8's with tongue on skates
|
| (Zip by)
|
| With the zip drive
|
| High to the face
|
| And I don’t smoke lye but my mind outer space
|
| I can fly to the gates of Heaven with the Reverend, say grace
|
| With the angels then race to Earth, spit a
|
| At 11: 00 at a showcase
|
| Flow way
|
| Beyond your slow pace
|
| Zoo to blow, move the fo’s, domes shake
|
| Don’t hate
|
| Don’t make me irate
|
| I put my heavyweight bars against your featherweights any day
|
| Anyway
|
| Movin' along, spewin' the bomb lyricals
|
| I’ll do to the song what mom’s do to umbilicals
|
| Rip it to shreds, I’m sick with the lead
|
| Not just the top, but to the paper’s bottom edge
|
| Don’t add insult to injury
|
| Hurt yourself fuckin' with R.E.
|
| K.S., yes Reks a vet, sorry
|
| All these rappers ain’t shit next to me
|
| Yo, call the doctor, call the nurse
|
| I got a burst that hurts the worst
|
| Put bitches in stitches, vicious with words, pronouns and verbs, I’ma
|
| Beast with grammar kinda like literature teachers
|
| Rip to pieces any MC’s thesis
|
| Jesus
|
| I thirst for 16's with spleens with spittage
|
| Admit
|
| Rather obscene lyrics in doors
|
| I’ma
|
| Force to be reckoned with, wreckin' shit
|
| Is of course the one causin' vibration in the mic cords
|
| Swords sharpen
|
| The boy poppin' off of the gum
|
| Got a flame in the belly that heat up the tongue
|
| Cough up a lung, where I’m from
|
| Niggas stay high, chinky eyed
|
| And Reks symbolize anything fly
|
| Ride Honda Civics slow
|
| Shuffle through the slow
|
| When we too small for hoopin' so we gotta sell blow
|
| Or we gotta flow like Krumb
|
| Scientifik, damn we lost one
|
| It’s only right
|
| We hold the torch son
|
| Don’t add insult to injury
|
| Hurt yourself fuckin' with R.E.
|
| K.S., yes Reks a vet, sorry
|
| All these rappers ain’t shit next to me
|
| Next to me |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Next 2 Me , by - Reks. Song from the album Grey Hairs, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп