| Smoking weed
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| True indeed
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| Sick emcees, presented by
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| Tecca Neez! |
| Check it out
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| Ain’t nobody busting, like the nigga with a gun up, in the middle of the west
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| I be the killa with a TEC and I’m a villain with a vest, I gotta fill 'em with
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| effects, then I get it out the way
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| So I can say, what I wanna say
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| Right over the track singing, like the father of Nona Gaye
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| Let’s get it on, they love it when Tech spit a song way rugged
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| And check niggas on they grudges, then death shitted on they buzzes
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| That was just the intros, for the family with sin souls
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| But the Gandys with the fem flows, can’t stand me, like ten toes
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| I rock it, making my female fans freaking faucets
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| Put me up against Hop is thoughtless, not supposed to press partners, stop it
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| Can’t compete compare crotches, cockless, taking Tech is too toxic, toss it!
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| Never will the bosses take losses
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| Study cautiousness off this shit!
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| 'Cause some fans are antagonistic
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| Naggin' bitches, raggin' like a stabbin' happened, when I’m havin' hits
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| Get massive sick shit, like I ain’t Vlad and vicious, bad and twisted
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| Keep it jabbing fisted, Trav insisted
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| So I frown scarier, when the clown buries a nigga down to the ground,
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| but the crown carrier
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| Get the hound out the mound, and they’re bound, marry 'em all together,
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| is how we breaking the sound barrier
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| I’m three-dimensional, we invincible, you saying I’m over, you never see the
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| principle
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| My seed is meant to grow rapid, I’m the classical rap shit on acid!
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| Bastards! |
| (Hurl bars) Never will niggas be able to gimme the trash it
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| Jack it! |
| (World star) How in the fuck am I ripping, and reaching the masses?
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| Asses, faggots, too many back splashes
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| Then a wack black chat hatches, 'cause you napped at rap classes
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| They making a mockery of my painted face
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| But me I resemble our ancestors
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| And these niggas talking stuck, at a fainted pace
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| Still not realizing, this man blessed ya
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| I am so clever, my friends adore me they banging Yates
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| Your rhyme is no measure to him, you bore me, gay flaming fakes
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| Find him more cheddar, my end’s for me stay gaining great
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| 'Cause I am forever like Em, 40, Jay, Wayne and Drake
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| Pure art, I’m the shit and nigga, you’re farts
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| How they gonna challenge the Tecca N9na, when your flow’s softer,
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| than a Velour scarf?
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| Blowing this track into pieces, I’m leaving you fewer parts
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| At this moment, I am laying as dead, as before my 2.0 tour starts
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| Ain’t packed shit yet, this how your taint rap hits best
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| Tecca N9na ain’t plastic, my bank’s drastic, you can’t match his checks
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| Lot of gore in the flow, and I’m born to go, got your whore in the door
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| Taking your chick, 'cause a nigga been up on the Forbes list, now four in a row
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| My religion is followed by little kids
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| College kids, metalheads, hip hop heads, the rips and soo-woos
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| Your religion is tainted by money grubbing
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| Funny hugging, chummy loving grown men, that like to do youths
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| So I stick with my technicians
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| No F’s given, yeah, this team is a mixture of a few groups
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| This for my fans, nigga, fuck everybody else
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| If you loving this Tech N9ne, give me three aooh’s, and two whoops |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Strangeulation Vol. II Cypher III , by - Tech N9ne. Song from the album Strangeulation Vol. II, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп