| You don’t wanna get the Ripper started again
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| Don’t know another way, goin' hard as I can
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| Every bar I command is a part of the brand
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| Shit raw like sushi in the heart of Japan
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| Spark a little chronic when I park the sedan
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| Smack 'em in the face with the barf on my hand
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| Never give a fuck is the marketing plan
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| This’ll get into your blood like a carcinogen
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| Start shit, end up rolled in a carpet
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| Your bitch breath smell like an old dirty armpit
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| This here the coke bein' sold on the market
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| Come from a place that’s cold as the Arctic
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| Raised in the streets got a criminal mind
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| Been livin' behind this abysmal line
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| Chisel every verse, every syllable prime
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| And I’m gettin' it all done in minimal time
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| My names comin' up when they have their discussions
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| Hack your computer and act like I’m Russian
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| Grab that bat give your ass a concussion
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| Bitch stand back leave a path of destruction
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| Got that crack, every track so disgustin'
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| Big C Lance gotta stash the production
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| Smash the percussion
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| Ask if I’m bluffin'
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| Probably gettin' drunk somewhere laughin' at nothin'
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| I’ve been awake, gettin' live in the place
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| These rappers all fake
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| They just lie to your face
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| Got my foot on the gas while they riding the brakes
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| Five minutes they blinded, the time that it takes
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| Tryin' to debate while we
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| Strive to be great
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| Five in my head, one more line and I’m straight
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| So scribin' my fate, not defined by mistakes
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| Smokin' this green got my mind up in space
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| We like to keep it rowdy, they know we’ll never quit it
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| There ain’t no question 'bout it, we always stay committed
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| About to fuck this place up and it’s just to say we did it
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| If you got a problem with it bitch you know we goin' all out
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| Ain’t that probably what the streets is known for, goin' all out
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| Got the backstage lookin' like it’s girls gone wild, don’t tease me, show on
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| Now whoa, slow it down, had to teach my homeboy, that she’s a coke whore
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| She like to carve lines and slopes but these hoes don’t ski or snowboard
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| Like go for it, fuck her but you gotta wear a rubber, try to tongue kiss her
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| betcha she gon' leave a cold sore
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| And you gon' need more than just Abreva ointment
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| I’m always gettin' head they don’t need to coinflip
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| They give it up to anyone who seemin' important
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| Got me feelin like homie, the lead singin' Poison
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| Bret Michaels rap, I just vibe with Snak
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| Maybe nice on the mic
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| I’m a psychopath
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| That might go smack the fuck out of anyone talkin' about me on the internet
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| before I write them back
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| Cause real life ain’t a fake facade
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| Ain’t a front like a whore house but the sign say massage
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| Papers lodged, strapped, tucked underneath the famous stars
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| And great Bape in a mason jar
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| And unlike that fake chain of yours
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| You ain’t made your mark
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| If you an actor then play your part
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| For fuck’s sake you’ll get duct taped, laid out starin' at the blade of a table
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| saw
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| I’m like a paper boy, been known Atlanta Journal
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| Sharp dressed man, no flannels, thermals
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| No sandals, turtlenecks
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| Everywhere I turn my head, it’s like I’m standin' in the land of Urkels
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| Rappers say they want smoke til a firearm
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| Is pulled on 'em then they runnin' for the fire alarm
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| And start blastin', that was your final warning
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| Broadcast it on Viacom and we goin' all out, BITCH! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song All Out , by - Snak the Ripper. Song from the album Off the Rails, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп