Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mt. Everest, artist - Inspectah Deck. Date of issue: 16.02.2015
Song language: English
Mt. Everest |
| I make 'em nod like paedamin |
| See them live might dive off the mexamine |
| Ground drama, sound harder than crowd bonkers |
| I’m 'bout dollars, I touch down in your town, holla |
| IMS, gladiator, call him Russell Crowe |
| Son of pro, watch these lame niggas come and go |
| Blessed with the poison pen, murder was the case so I guess it’s them boys again |
| Through your duce high, salute eyes, be the general, the last one to run |
| I will take all ten of you, I’m feeling myself BK whiling the belt |
| Rocking my shit, eyes on the real wealth |
| Me and Goldie tell 'em it’s easy money |
| Now shorty wanna fuck, that’s sleazy, honey |
| Fame call us, money, it change all us |
| Get it how you live it or sing the same chorus |
| The game taught us, nothing in the bank for us |
| W claim walrus, yeah, we tank for life |
| Was raised on the island of the misfits |
| The children of the corn snatch your green with the biscuits |
| It’s what you might call food for thought |
| And what’s the killer season if you don’t include the shot |
| This cross will start a feud and leave your whole mood distraught |
| Used to feel safe until they unscrewed vault and |
| Took your common sense out your memory bank |
| Then dumped on you like missiles over enemy tanks |
| So homie, drop slow like you in front of five O |
| 'Cause force go in the raw and your back is where the knives go |
| Ride the attic, hiding silver spoons |
| Being cut so deep, it’s hard to heal the wounds |
| Those flashing don’t blast, they still buffoons |
| Just blowing on hot air, they should fill balloons |
| Yo, I like them shorties that’ll kill for goons |
| And start a hustle in an apron to cut wheels and tunes |
| I want leverage, ice cold beverage |
| Money I can’t count, I blacked out standing on Mount Everest |
| Live lessons, the cover of essence |
| It’s pure excellence parting right down my measurements |
| Politic the deficit, fingerprints, no evidence |
| Cocaine, caviar, hitting on receptionists |
| Hang with the specialists, go medalist |
| Presidential grant, eating stakes that’s tenderous |
| Got my brand, catch me in Megan Fox' bed |
| Cash clock, Gucci, IPad, bag |
| It’s all black, top Nikes, you fat lazies |
| Riches from rags, cash and diamond faces |
| Got promoted up, friends up in high places |
| Next move, my best move, chess move, the strategy |
| Closet full of guns, son, none' |
| Get off that bullshit, that hip hop faggotry |
| I’m highbred nigga worth five gravity |
| Clothes never raggedy, oil painting of me displayed up in gallery |
| Capture me, Wu Tang forever, immortality |
| High salary, blessing from a mother named Valery |
| And my two sons named Anthony |
| Racks from stacks, quickly I’m browsing |
| First class ticket to the moon only cost 50 000 |
| Niggas be doubting, it’s understood, I’m running with goons |
| One of a kind, imported goods, killer the hood |
| Consume me, Lord, the last time I checked got 50 points in your voice |
| Good Lord |