| That’s 2011 shit
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| Hip-Hop is still alive in the flesh
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| Emcees…
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| The fuck, man
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| I like that old bullshit
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| When the MCs came to live out the name
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| And to peform
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| Some had to snort cocaine to act insane
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| You wild Slaine, you wild, you wild
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| I was sort of sicko, I’m psycho, slightly insane
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| Stick a nickle bag right in the pipe, lighten the flame
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| Ditch a motherfucking cab, steal a bike in the rain
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| Wipe it out on the train tracks, I ain’t right in my brain
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| Put the skull in the scully, put the bully in boulevard
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| Smoke koolies with Julie, suck me off 'til I’m fully hard
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| Blow a load and wipe it off then give it to Jenny
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| She can suck it soft for me, bust a nut with the semi
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| Any occasion I’m staying for days in a Days Inn
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| Cocaine and liquor and a bunch of Caucasian
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| Women who want food stamps and raising children
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| In project buildings they know my rhymes, it’s amazing
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| The white trash king of the corner; |
| the block bastard
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| You fucking has-been, you been dead — you got blasted
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| I’m still alive I’m making history built
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| Like these bitches in the media, they’re pissed at me still
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| I blacked out a couple years and ended up in the flesh
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| I ain’t catch a case I bought mad new kicks and whips
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| Got two bank accounts and them shits is fat
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| Now I’m the mouse with the cheese 'cause I tricked the trap
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| I’m in the tub stroking bitches like Fritz the Cat
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| Then the pigs busted in and tried to frisk me black
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| Like emcees is jumping out shoes and socks
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| Crowbars up the block giving niggas speed knocks
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| Now you’re bleeding, leaking on your new outfit
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| Bragging 'bout your new kicks that ain’t come out yet
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| You’re just a fraud frying up swine and lard
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| You’ll probably sin all week then go praise your Lord
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| Good luck, I hope you wash away your sins and such
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| Or make it through your bid without getting fucked up
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| Studio session, wrote a ill verse and I’m out
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| Human Centipede, shittle in your girlfriend mouth, what!
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| The earth maker the earthquaker
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| The Doctor Killpatient is urgent to nurse pager
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| My fifth fire first, motherfucker the first blazer
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| Asiatic, black man, fan of Fantasia
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| Boot Camp Clik, Nike all of my life
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| Might ball up my fist, hit you with all of my might (Bow)
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| The story of Ricky
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| Wanted the dick and a fifth of this, horny as shit B
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| I might smack something from rapping, your rap’s fronting
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| Goodnight and have something when clapping the gat hunting
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| Good will but I’m still the janitor
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| Smarter than all the rest but they scared to damage you, uh
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| I’m still insane, Bill and Slaine
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| Party over here, bitch, pills and 'caine
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| You a frat boy nigga and you’re
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| I’m a gat boy nigga, when it’s drawn, I dare you (P.)
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| Body the great, three shotties to shake
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| Your foundation down in the first fucking place
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| Haha, worst case scenario:
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| Gun burst, break face, make you aerial
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| Yo, ILL BILL A.K.A Illmatic
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| Walking conspiracy like the HIV that didn’t kill Magic
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| Bricks and Glocks, all white bottles is broken
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| Same shit that got Sean Price kicked out of La Coka
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| I be the next one to over-relapse, growing weed plants
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| With weed champs, LSD stamps, felony grams
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| Thousand-dollar lesbians dance, catch me in France
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| Showtime, counting plenty of cash, mentally am politic like the Kennedy clan
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| Whether we’re in a tour bus or a van we’ll forever be fanned
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| It’s said work makes you free on the gates of Auschwitz
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| Same way 99% of y’all ain’t about shit
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| I pull cards and call things as I see 'em
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| Fuck a glass house, put you in a glass mausoleum
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| Then jump in the mosh pit, my presence is like when Satan is conjured
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| Or better yet, like Slayer in concert |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Boulevard, artist - Slaine. Album song A World With No Skies 2.0, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп