Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mood of the Grind, artist - The Koreatown Oddity. Date of issue: 12.01.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Mood of the Grind |
| Keep movin' |
| Keep strivin' |
| Keep grindin' |
| Stay motivated |
| Keep movin' |
| Keep strivin' |
| Keep grindin' |
| Gotta cut out the middle man to extend my bread |
| Evil lurks in the hearts of these sour-faced lemonheads |
| Mad 'cause my reach is further than they short little hands |
| It ain’t my fault you in the T-Rex family |
| We all got a special strength, so revise your strategy |
| Analyze the data then reclimb the ladder |
| Mother Earth stays knee-deep in cadavers |
| So for what it’s worth none of this shit even matters |
| A balloon state of mind explodes domes like brain scanners |
| Engrave my name on a K, in the shadows |
| Roll the dice anyway with nothing to fall back on |
| Cept my faith to maintain the test of time travel |
| For an example, check me in an eon |
| And when you finally respond, me and the squad, we on |
| And ain’t nothin' to do but look backward |
| As the table switch backwards, how you like them apples? |
| And if you didn’t fuck with me |
| I bet now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Uh, now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Uh, now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Uh, now you feel me |
| Now you feel me |
| Adapt to detours in the plans |
| That pop up like computer virus digital scans |
| Once you order on the menu, you’ll continue to have |
| Served to your table |
| So wake up and smell what’s under your nasal path |
| Connections click like LEGOs attach |
| When the pressure’s intense from this weight on my back |
| I have a sesh with a swish and let the boombox radio blast |
| Pay me in cash is what I prefer |
| So put the nerds in your staff on alert, they better learn the math |
| Yo, I’m closing in, I’m focused on the win |
| And John Travolta’s wig realer than most y’all supposed to have been |
| It’s soakin' in like the ink when I hold the pen |
| And it caters alone, yo, might crush your ribs |
| Ben, cross «ill nigga» off my bucket list |
| Cause I know I’d be one since I was a fuckin' kid |
| Don’t worry about me |
| Me, me, me |