| Rap slash out these battleship torpedoes that’ll rip through
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| your fragile ego, ransack your evil empire like I was Genghis
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| The Khan/con artist, fiendish, on target, laser beam shift
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| Trackin your movements like The Pentagon
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| Disarm the meanest lookin studio prankster
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| Endangered, we airborne rangers with the broken language
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| Absorbin blows every game I strength (What…)
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| The Chinese connection game of death
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| You might see me in the reflection in the chain on his neck
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| Controllin these mics while he aimin his Tek
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| Couldn’t even hold it still cos his hands was all wet
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| Said we a threat cos we the heaviest
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| And with a strobe light in his progress you’ll never be fresh
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| You can’t murderlise a survivalist
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| Fool we thrive on this shit, the third eye is too swift
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| All we gotta do is provide the music, ugh
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| Don’t need a Lac on Deez to make your bitch hop on my lap
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| and lap on these, lavishin please don’t tease
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| To all these way-below-average MCs
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| You gon’stay below, don’t wish, that’s just how it’s gon’be
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| My style is on levels unattainable, recyclable and reusable
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| but not biodegradable so don’t confuse em They last eternal, evil gas that’s acid turned
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| When I spit it, unmatched fashion over da riddim
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| Unabashedly, leave sights only extreme sides of gassing
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| Mic mastery, necessary steps to make you genuflect
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| I reflect the genuine and accept
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| nothing less than your respect in excess
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| I wasn’t expecting the success that I met
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| When I grabbed my shit and left command
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| Won’t let it get too ahead, I got a check on that
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| Check you spice rack, it’s certain elements you lack
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| We combust when we contact
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| Come correct with the contract
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| Show respect when we stomp packs
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| You get cut for the combat
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| Got the specs of your launchpad
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| Snatch ya bitch when we rock that
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| Interception, she out back
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| Undressed off the tw&sack, blessed off the cognac
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| Take her back, we don’t want that, no not that
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| I don’t rap for the money but I’m lovin that it pays well
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| Sometimes I kick a strange tale, make your brain swell
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| Souls tighter than lifers sittin in the same cell
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| I never listen to the drama that a dame sell
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| I’m tryin to make that mail so I sought the game well
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| I know the spell from the rattle of a snake’s tail
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| When a hard nigga spray and the enemies l&ale
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| I’m witta female that was waitin, make her exhale
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| I’m Double X-L like the magazine is And fuck the drugs but I can show you what a rappin fiend is Perhaps my team is NOT the type to act the meanest
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| but on my birth, you’re just a falling Earth, you gettin smacked to Venus
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| Stings are jackin the penis so your label accept
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| cos you ain’t able to rap or able to wreck
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| I’m claimin respect with rappin that’ll strangle your neck
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| Claim you’re a vet but still I’m makin you jet, shakin the set
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| I’m unique with this on three hundred and fifty cubic inches
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| of horse-powered fuel injection, positive traction
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| Throttlin action, my prerogative’s idlin
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| Mind bogglin speed tobogganin streets of Oakland
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| Old English Old English, the kingpin
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| Swingin like Charlie Miggetts,
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| high wire torch, swallowin, spine tinglin
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| Break your vertebrae’s with permanent turnicans
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| Firm burn your sternum like nerve gas and germ, warfare
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| Hor, d’oerve you serve, your Sequoia Heights in Stirling
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| Minted, quartered your terms is centric
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| Circumventin the industry
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| While your fate remains in the chains of imagery portrayed
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| And mass media hype, we smash media rights through mics
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| Crack through the core at the speed of the light
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| I’m ??? |
| ??? |
| ???, graffiti on mics
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| The beaters are white, forever sweet and precise for me to ignite
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| UGH!
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| We combust when we contact
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| So come correct with the contract
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| Show respect when we stomp packs
|
| You get cut for the combat
|
| Got the specs of your launchpad
|
| Snatch ya bitch when we rock that
|
| Interception, she out back
|
| Undressed off the tw&sack, blessed off the cognac
|
| Take her back, we don’t want that, no not that
|
| Never that
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| We combust when we contact
|
| So come correct with the contract
|
| Show respect when we stomp packs
|
| You get cut for the combat
|
| Got the specs of your launchpad
|
| Snatch ya bitch when we rock that
|
| Interception, she out back
|
| Undressed off the tw&sack, blessed off the cognac
|
| Take her back, we don’t want that, no not that, ugh |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Airborne Rangers, artist - Souls Of Mischief. Album song Trilogy: Conflict, Climax, Resolution, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп