Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Strangeulation III, artist - Tech N9ne. Album song Strangeulation, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.05.2014
Record label: Strange
Song language: English
Strangeulation III |
Wrapped in XLR cables |
Up from my whiskers, down to my fuckin' kicks |
Wreck-O was echoed in Gordon Geckos |
You suckin' dick |
Nobody be askin' me for secrets |
I ain’t chuckin' tips |
I’d rather be bumpin' hips |
On that ratchet with muffin tits |
Tore up the limits |
From Britan visions would rock their lives |
Inside a prison where giddy bitches don’t jock the rhyme |
Born in precision |
Rhythm spittin' could swat a fly |
For them to just kick a single shillings from Spotify |
Bye, Bye killers |
On a high five business |
Gonna ride by the sickest |
In your high ride to the hitlist |
If we ain’t spoke in ages |
Then miss me with broken favors |
You Miley Cyrus to majors |
You twerkin' on swollen razors (run now) |
Dont make me come to dinnernail your tounge down |
And have you plead your case to us |
At Strangeland at sundown |
Be careful of the biz |
Cause everything has got a price attached |
Wake up with a horse head in your bed |
And next your life is snatched |
Tank full of petro |
Bank full of paesos |
Pull on my tour bus |
Bonus on a payroll |
Feel like I be killin' it |
Famous on the internet |
Really I’m just wingin' it |
Cookin' shit on my Kitchenett |
Life so good |
Right now I need to celebrate |
Bout to sell a stadium out |
And turn it into rake |
Look at how the industry norm |
Has started lookin' Strange |
All my brothers riding the storm |
While they just ride the waves |
Caviar wishes |
Bitches for my bitches |
Black shades and hoodies |
And spots and white linens |
Feel like Sam Kinison |
Preachin' to these citizens |
Screamin' at the saints |
You ain’t ever gonna get rid of us |
Guessin' that I just cleaned my plate |
So now I’m gettin' cake |
Speedin' down the interstate |
Yellin' get out the fuckin' way |
We plant flags in the ground |
Because we here to stay |
And bring my whole hood out |
And have my own parade |
(Black Gold!) |
I purposely wrote this verse |
Just to murder this |
Member defecate |
Disassemble the limbs |
Of a nigga who try and seperate |
Artistry from nonfiction |
Im sent with a conviction |
To sentence you pons |
Givin' the benz on my diction |
There he goes |
Speakin' bout how he murk a beat |
Smellin' himself |
Why else would he flaunt about it so verbally |
Dance around me |
Like I was a paraplegic |
In a doo-cee-doo competition |
Lookin pissed like I never heard of feet |
Yadda Yadda |
A whole lotta yappin' |
About my rappin' |
When I’m the captain |
Of crunchin' you niggas milky dreams |
Im the comparison of Pac’s face |
Staring in your face |
Mock razor blades cut |
Leave you crispy clean |
Don’t ask Tech |
Ask me if it’s questions |
Guarantee that he tell you |
That I’m the best |
And Im destened |
To find a snake and a bat |
Helpin' Kansas City’s progression |
Hopin' I hurt the feelings |
Of whoever second guessed it |
Cause everybody talkin' |
Imma make you niggas hear me |
Mind control flow |
Now listen to your ears bleed |
Spit it sicker than these sicker fans |
Keep your dick up in your pants |
You were blunted on the block |
Me, I had some different plans |
I’m trying to get to France |
Sniffing grams |
Hit a branch |
Independent Powerhouse |
Vibin' out with the fam |
Waking up in different cities |
Every night hittin' grants |
Stay prepared for this |
I’m bearing witness to this sinner man |
Stripper dance with cinnamon |
Clubbin' with my gentelman |
Drink away the nights events |
Nothing worth remembering |
Squad will run up in this bitch |
Mobbin' like some immigrants |
Jack you for your paper stack |
Rob you of your innocence |
Taping of the scene of crimes |
Swabbing for my fingerprints |
Thought about my life |
You thought the same |
And couldn’t think of shit (Ha!) |
This type of fire dont extinguish |
Now write about some bigger shit |
You’re striking out |
Swing and miss |
Ring around the rosy homie |
Pocket full of pain |
I got a lock up on my lane |
And triple optic in my brain, look |