Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Thrill Is Back, artist - Statik Selektah. Album song What Goes Around, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 21.08.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Duck Down, Showoff
Song language: English
The Thrill Is Back |
(I feel it coming back though |
I mean it’s back, really though, you know) |
The thrill is gone, I think it’s coming back |
40 below, bubble coats and a lot of struggle rap |
(New York, New York) |
Back in the days I used to juggle crack |
Met real hip hop and fell in love with that |
And the money along with it |
But what’s a good time without hearing a song with it? |
Used to wonder where the did the culture go |
If it left did it go where it’s supposed to go? |
Good question, no answer |
Living slow, more like Jo Jo Dancer |
No sniffing, no burning up |
If he ain’t turn the mic on how the hell he turning up? |
Design of my mind is so intricate |
Smoke, make the rhyme up, not hard to think of it |
Ill writer with no ink pen |
Walter White of the bars, you Jesse Pinkman |
(Your style is played out) |
We shining brighter than the lights on a cityscape (New York) |
Something’s wrong, the thrill is gone like Biggie say |
Start a revolt like Diddy, nope, I’m not kidding |
With a targets, they leaving in a scope like Fifty |
The slave mentality over, we think bolder |
I finally kept the craft, now I’m killing these King Cobras |
They try to take the crown, but they drown in they own blood |
The next time the dudes came around they showed love (Where the love?) |
The heart is a house for love, but where your furnishings |
Complaining about the game, but still voting with your purchases |
Burning it, I murder the tournament that determine it |
For the market and they slobbin' on the knob that we turn it with (Turn it up) |
The bars make you follow the stars, I’m like Copernicus |
The Gods flying up to the firmaments to feel the turbulence |
The bullets gonna hit you from the pistols that they burnish |
Got you praying for tourniquets, hoping that the scar ain’t permanent |
Come on, man |