Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Terrorists, artist - X-Raided. Date of issue: 28.06.2004
Song language: English
Terrorists |
| Blinded, by the way of the Locs, the haters hold to |
| Extinguish the flames, and blow the roof off with smoke |
| Whether or not it’s West Coast, it’s Mad Man fa sho this |
| Notice the raw talent, technique, but not no hits |
| Critics crack frowns for holdin' the town down |
| I’m mad now, just so sick of the same sound |
| Formed a method and kept it, use it as a weapon against you |
| Bionic issue, to raise above the role of officials |
| Chronic fatigue |
| Flossin' for nil, innate hatin' chromatic emcees |
| I’m chasin' faces of Satan |
| Waitin' on Daytons, debatin' whether or not to shoot for the stars |
| You know who you are, but you can’t keep on jabbin' the jaw |
| I worked too hard, everyone carries a bucket of blood |
| From the sweat glands of a Mad Man, there ain’t no love |
| So bizarre, drownin' in a lake called «Hate» |
| Shaka Loc and Nefarious without a debate |
| (X-Raided) |
| Right before I bark like a mastie |
| With lines harder than mastic |
| Spit rhymes like bullets, swell up your chest like mastisses |
| I’ve mastered this rap scene |
| Blasted every wack cat I’ve seen |
| I’ve got the best flow, no match for this West Coast rap King |
| And that’s fact, not fabricated |
| Black Market advocated |
| With rhymes to substantiate it |
| It’s fine, avidly hated |
| When I rhyme tragically premeditated raps should be segregated |
| Wack emcees and emcees with skills should be separated |
| Debated in Hip-Hop Senate |
| Empeach all Record label Presidents releasin' as many wack acts as No Limit |
| No critic is bein' critical of their pitiful releases |
| I’m Siskel and Ebert, two thumbs down, rippin' you into plentiful pieces |
| Spit this thesis to the drug pound, flood the mic in a receptacle |
| On stage, holdin' my testicles, speakin' in tongues like a processional |
| You’re facin' inevitable spectacles steppin' to me |
| Your mid-section'll be crampin' like it was stretchin' |
| When a professional wreckin' the beat |
| Tears second to me, we all for total domination, COMPLETE |
| Vocal abomination can beat |
| With niggas like shootouts in the streets |
| Verbal automatic release at least a hundred rounds per discharge |
| In hordes, who else you expect to come this hard? |
| (X-Raided) Shaka Loc they playa hatin' |
| (Shaka Loc) And we’s aware of this |
| (X-Raided) Cuz what we spit is devastatin' |
| (Shaka Loc) And we’s aware of this |
| (X + Shaka Loc) Beware of this, Shaka Loc and Nefarious we terrorists |
| (X-Raided) Fake killas be hesitatin' |
| (Shaka Loc) And we’s aware of this |
| (Shaka Loc) |
| Dispicable scrutiny, interrogated and major hated |
| Strapped across a table unable to illustrate it |
| Certified Mad Man, made man, the script, the blue prints, the big hits |
| Yearly annual licks |
| Get my driver to stop it, the Planet must burn first |
| Shatter Earth with terrorist acts, it’s the block or the turf |
| What makes it worse, is I ain’t gotta lay down to hurt you |
| The verbal tec shells full of virtue (you better feel me) |
| To kill me, all slowly while we sleepin' |
| So watch for the heat-seeking scuds while you’re creepin' |
| Been peepin' out the wicked ways on how you be handlin' business, Midget |
| Done focused in on how to get the digits, and did it |
| I broke down my heat in pieces |
| Now chronicalistically speaking, you should have no liking for this thesis |
| Point blank, the bottom line not to understate this project |
| Cuz where we at you’z about to wreck |
| (X-Raided) |
| We deadly, quick to perpatrate like they want to confrontate |
| DJ’s honor Raided |
| I serve emcees to get exonerated |
| It’s on to me, that rap that your Mama hated |
| Cuz I created rhymes about jackin' and comin' after ya |
| Doin' things that’s crime related |
| I’m related to all killas, all thieves, and G’s |
| Got lyrics in my genes, my Grandma breeds emcees |
| Like Dogs, say «Sic Him», I hit him, and split him at the seams |
| Go for the jugular, muggin' ya like a New York City scene |
| I smother ya like a Mother that doesn’t want her kid to inhale |
| Tortorous abortion, bodily forcin' you into Hell |
| Snortin' and exhale fire like medieval dragons |
| We evil Mad Men, for hire we leave people in trash bins |
| Leap with ferocity, X-Raided will shock all these trash rappers |
| Leave your track with gashes like it was attacked by velociraptors |
| I’d be at them platinum ones |
| Like Old Dirty Bastard I’ma get a Grammy |
| If I gotta run up in the ceremony with a gat and a gun |
| Understand me, I make your balls split |
| I make your dome shiver |
| Split your throat, with a sliver of my platinum plaque |
| I slither over tracks like snakes |
| Deliver raps with no mistakes |
| I’m a cobra spittin' venom in your face |