Apathy - 1,000 Grams lyrics

"Three, two, one, contact!" (Chorus: x4) (Apathy:) "Representin' like what" (Biggie:) "1,000 grams of uncut to the gut" (Verse 1:) I'm the type that'll keep my Nikes extra white Like seein' God's girls in fluorescent light Plug camcorder cords in electrical fixtures Take sensual kisses with identical sisters (And they better give up the a**) Celibate b**hes Are gettin' held under water like developin' pictures Incredible spittin', got your skeleton twitchin' Your head'll be twistin' like a demonic medical condition 'Till you vomit and your body is liftin' off of the bed In position of a crucifixion with your arms spread (You're all dead) I'm hip-hop's apocalypse, let up and Ap claims the crown f*ggots, step up your rap game s**as get shook from shoves, chick checks You're a b**h, you'll be cleanin' my kicks with Windex I'm a gigolo, get a ho b**h that's rich Or a little thick chick in a 626 I'm consistent, you know when Ap spits it's sick Yeah, you're different...more like a chick with a dick I'm a Pisces, addicted to girls, clothes, and Nikes Material and spiritual, both worlds excite me Flows fracture foes' flak jackets and rip fabric A rap addict badder than you backpack f*ggots Ap's a beast, the cake's like crack on streets You swear that you deep, but you can't rap on beat, b**h (Chorus) (Verse 2:) Stop the muthaf**in' pressure 'fore the pipes all burst, the mic's don't work The blows that I throw lift you right off Earth You'll get...clocked in the face and rocket through space Shout out your hood, watch your whole block get erased A superhuman supersoldier, hotter than a supernova Money multiplies like??? with Super Soakers A true rap addict, y'all don't never want static, homey You'll be at home gettin' that homeopathic Listen...I don't care if you Christian, m**m or Catholic God got a whole iPod filled with Ap's sh** Y'all came for cream but get very little 'Cause Ap reign supreme, y'all barely drizzle Metaphysical, still count cheddar better than digital Money machines runnin' the scenes, summon the fiends, I'm lovin' it though Makin' an abundance of dough Runnin' the show, pumpin' blow 'till I'm numb in the soul A child from the 80's era, you couldn't paint it clearer Grew up with moms snortin' c**aine off a mirror Those are all the little things that make me me Couldn't focus my brain and blamed A.D.D. On the contrary, Ap is like mental level Hence the mental state rate grows exponential But, if y'all wanna brawl, better call Paul Wall To fix all them teeth Ap knocked outta your jaw, punk (Chorus)