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