Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Break the Mould , by - Grap Luva. Song from the album Amongst the Madness, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 31.03.2000
Record label: Scenario
Song language: English
Break the Mould |
| «I'm international» |
| «Got to uphold the raw shit» |
| Yo' check it |
| My writin' tight words |
| I incite these herbs to bite |
| Complex like walkin' through |
| Project streets at night |
| Made a pact with God |
| To uphold the raw shit |
| Don’t flip |
| We gettin' rotations |
| Like buzz clips |
| While you wait to react |
| I launch my attack |
| From the ground up |
| Right and exact |
| Like these tracks |
| Hittin' on facts |
| Weavin' gold on wax |
| Up late nights |
| Scribing these rhymes |
| By candlelight |
| Sodomites take delight |
| In the words I recite |
| Proceed to educate |
| At the jam I stimulate |
| Where I’m from got potential |
| Plus grabs in the barrel |
| Holdin' people down longer |
| Than the grey pharaoh |
| Makin' rows narrow |
| So we achieve all goals |
| See sights |
| Watch dreams |
| Unfold quench the soul |
| With the words |
| I possess the story is told |
| When I’m done creatin' this |
| I got to break the mould |
| «Grap Luva |
| Comin' straight from New York» |
| Yo, Avoidin' stress |
| Never take a life for chess |
| Concidered blessed |
| Movin' amongst the madness |
| While protected plus |
| I’ve been selected |
| To bring wannabees |
| To their knees |
| Who be claimin' these |
| It’s a general thing |
| My status, seven stars |
| My M-16 is these sixteen bars |
| Third eye open |
| Refuse to scribe foolishness |
| Usin' this to project word sound |
| (Connect the power) |
| Get respect |
| Lead these seeds by example |
| Like a tree in growth |
| I keep my roots ample |
| Your mind’s |
| A corridor darker than |
| Full of confusion |
| I come with remedies |
| That crush all illusions |
| Yo |
| I write my rhymes |
| One day at a time |
| Average cats bite styles |
| (Better off bein' mines) |
| With these lines |
| I possess my story is told |
| Biters |
| They getting bold |
| So I breaks the mold |
| (Here we go) |
| «Rap murder |
| Comin' straight from New York» |
| Highly unlike |
| Any other cats on mics |
| I mesmirize as these beats |
| And rhymes |
| (They take flight) |
| When in rhyme fights |
| Inspired by my tight flow |
| Astute attribute |
| Bound to win, place in show |
| But I’m no race horse |
| Forget whippin' up on me |
| Get your wolves and your meager |
| Army there’s no harm in me |
| Listen made your stash |
| From no giggas and pimp hats |
| We don’t pop shit |
| To leather gems while they bitch |
| Pull their car quick |
| They ungrateful an' slick |
| If they weaker then their flows |
| Then your flow ends quick |
| Slack jaw cats |
| With no facts always complain |
| Subliminal beats won’t work |
| (Call my name) |
| Still the Y.S.B. |
| Crushin' flies so swiftly |
| Brothas won’t know |
| You as a true emcee |
| (Rather intense b) |
| That’s how my story is told |
| My soul was never sold |
| Because I broke the mould |