Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Kronic Braggart, artist - Tonedeff. Album song Hyphen, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 25.04.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: QN5
Song language: English
Kronic Braggart |
It takes a punk motherfucker to brag, but go figure |
Flow nigga? |
I’m leaving your bitch with more just 3 holes in her |
Stuff woodchips into your corpse and torture you with a soul splinter |
Blowing over you into the net, like you was a 4 foot goaltender |
Hold ya pen up, I’ll swipe it off with your hand attached, Imagine that |
Your faggot ass is the poster girl for Vagistat |
You’re braggin that you defeated me with a battle rap in a hear me chat |
Stop riding my dick… gimme the fuckin saddle back |
Fast to react, I’m certain to, FACT |
The only pat on the back you ever got was when mommy was burping you |
I burn shit up, give your father a nervous hug |
This shit is just like TLC at dinner the way that I serve this scrub |
My words are much more elaborate than a Persian rug |
Cause I’m more of a novel writer than the author of «To Sir With Love» |
I twirl a thug impostor into pasta; |
you got the look |
But you ain’t worth a fuckin word like a speech from Laetitia Casta |
This’ll cost ya much more than a loss, I want your life force |
Tonight, you’re going down for sure, bitch, like a dyke whore |
These high purity viruses, I fight off |
Cause I’m dousing the chronic plague with industrial Lysol |
Twice as raw, cause I pen a sonnet a day |
Richard Simmons told me this commie kronic plague was atomically gay |
In the most astonishing way, I be taking the the fast route |
Battling me, You’re like a frog in a bathhouse, ass out |
I’m reversing the last doubt, that I can smoke you in a conflict |
Amputating your arms so I can poke you in the armpit |
With the sharpest of objects |
You should take immodium AD, because you need to stop that soft shit |
Im encoding the proper topics to cover |
Even started a non-for-profit organization to kill you under |
I chop prison’s in half, and split cells |
Bitch you rhyme like Ricky Martin just stuck his dick in your shit-well |
I wish to dispel, any notion you spit well |
Strap zarbon to a car bomb, spark the engine and excel |
I watched your head swell from your sweetest moment |
With Glamour Shots with an airbrushed t-shirt saying 'I Beat Tonedeff' on it |
I deliver the type of flow components that zone in |
Attaching to the weakest host, and then slowly drone till your brain’s imploding |
Controlling your mind to expose you in public |
Cause yo, my style is like a hooker with herpes — Not to be fucked with |
Don’t even attempt to blush, bitch, or even take a stand |
Got you shook, like the Pope and Mohammed Ali shaking hands |
This is the way I land, with minimization |
I am iller than all the kids in the make a wish foundation |
So, fuck a braggin bastard with a massive passion |
Your girl said you come up short |
With your rhyme schemes and just how fast you’ve lasted |
You bite more than a scrappy mastiff |
I drafted a pack of stationary reading 'Plague's a Pussy' on the masthead |
I’m giving the medical field a new reason to research |
Making your head chatter enough to make your fucking teeth hurt |
Revert and I will come and find you |
Bitch, I will even produce the beat you’ll be saying you battle rhymes to |
A lyrical gift that shines true to blind you |
I would go back and obliterate your atoms if I had the time to |
Everything you’re spitting I strike a line through, like it’s connect the dots |
Fuck a last line, I wrecked your spot — what |