| Four Owls
|
| Takin' over, son
|
| Let’s go
|
| Yeah, it’s non-stop like fiends to crack rock
|
| Money that you ain’t got
|
| Tryna get to sunny place for the new spot
|
| Change your face like a new ark
|
| To a doggy or a new bark
|
| All your fans love you till you went pop
|
| We hip-hop like head-spins in parking lots
|
| Put it back together like cars in chopping shop
|
| The shit’s real but the fans forgot
|
| Like mans that bomb snakes, baby, word to Cot
|
| We pass high, sat lookin' over your necktie
|
| Fret-wires harder than the ones with the chest size
|
| And chastise, shine comin' back like the cat’s eyes
|
| Takin' what you got like the fat guy
|
| Let 'em in on whim like a bomb inside a bin
|
| Listen in, this is Jim, hear me like a first hymn
|
| Never been and never will till we in store
|
| R.A. |
| and the Four like the R.A.F. |
| at war
|
| Old universes are gone, see the remnants
|
| Mood in the room gettin' hot, feel the tension
|
| The sickness and the medicine
|
| Apply both and I hope that I cope well
|
| Ride pressure, never coat-tails
|
| I don’t need it
|
| Many egos prayin' I’ll spark, I won’t feed 'em
|
| Never stop movin', forgot we were human
|
| Tricks of the trade, charge to the game
|
| Party in the front, business in the back room
|
| We’re not tryna sit around listenin' for the bad news
|
| Check the momentum we gain, it’s powerful
|
| King in the game, new reigns out to shower you
|
| They call dumb shit power moves
|
| Steppin' out the blue, found a new racer thing
|
| It’s paper-thin chances you could take the win
|
| Saw them flex at the weigh in and get weighed in
|
| Damn, why they do you like that?
|
| I don’t know, shoulda shut the fuck up, I guess
|
| Tryna think straight with that hate in your mind
|
| It’s like tryna balance on the blade of a knife
|
| Airborne like a virus
|
| Drunk but still the pilot
|
| Words touch grooves like the stylus
|
| Kill 'em all with their own silence
|
| Style kinds peg-legged, circle this island like pirates
|
| From the sediment, vibes attached to the gold like wedding ring
|
| We does this like this, fuck your preference
|
| Boss man like the president
|
| Don’t teach but could ask how the lesson went
|
| 'Cause shit’s wack now
|
| Soundin' like a bunch of rappers on smack
|
| I’m just tryna being 'em back down
|
| Shouldn’t give 'em any cash, someone should be sacked
|
| Givin' 'em slack, since all the twats comin' back 'round
|
| We’re rap titans, shit’s self-professed but who’s fightin'?
|
| A lot puffin' out their chest but proof’s right
|
| In truce they move silent
|
| All too frightened, want peace but speak violent
|
| I’m old, still rappin' and spillin' my liquor cabinet
|
| Woop! |
| Woop! |
| Killin' a rapper, that be the ambulance
|
| Calculate damage, you’re grabbin' at a axe
|
| Still don’t bring back passion to rappin', we know carelessness
|
| Motherfuckers makin' a wack track, it’s blasphemous
|
| Can’t backtrack like cap to back up this
|
| Wanna chat that shit about slappin' a bitch
|
| Lackin' the chips, they can’t stand out like a cat with a lisp
|
| Yeah karma takes life like cancer sticks
|
| I’m 6' 4″, leave you short like a acronym
|
| Leaf made the beat, we bring it more, no pamperin'
|
| Everybody’s scamperin', mainstream tamperin'
|
| Go direct to the set, no meanderin'
|
| I’ll die, yes, before I digress
|
| Because I write text to bring life to the dead
|
| Go hyper, yes, see my ghost in the flesh
|
| You dreamin' to die for
|
| I spray Lysol in your eyeball
|
| I eat glass, mash my dick through rockfall
|
| I’m a werewolf when the night fall
|
| Jake Gyllenhaal when I Nightcrawl
|
| Body parts when I brawl
|
| Momma done told me I need to grow up
|
| Broke, no luck, I don’t give a fuck, so what
|
| Woke up next to the neighborhood coke slut
|
| Coked up with the flesh in her nose tore up
|
| A little bit of Sean P, a little bit of Ozzy
|
| White bitch, Christmas, hoes sniff blow, Bing Crosby
|
| Arabian prince, bitch, got a big posse
|
| The Lone Ranger, Tonto, kemosabe
|
| The immigrant and I be knockin' on your border
|
| This is Sodom and Gomorrah
|
| Whether be it in the Bible or the father of the Torah
|
| Got 'em on the bottom rockin' a fedora
|
| Droppin' 'em in order when I’m shockin' a reporter
|
| Break into the spot, make it to the top
|
| Take it up a notch, decorate the watch like a billionaire
|
| Crotch dance art form, pants gone porn
|
| I got more juice than Lance Armstrong, ha |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Air Strike, artist - The Four Owls. Album song Nocturnal Instinct, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп