Anno Domini Beats - Head Punches lyrics

[Intro: K-Rino] We gonna call this one Head Punches But I guess at the end of the day it could pa** for a Flow Session Let's go [Verse 1: K-Rino] I turbo boost words that shoot, ripping your shirt loose Your baby mama's bare feet look like work boots The fire throat, not a guy that you should try and coach My quotes are more terrifying than a flying roach One punch gave that head about fifty knots My shine is hard to block like Nowitzki's shot If you was smart, you'd get out this place Cause it's about to get ugly like Donatella Versace's face They say that you one of the hardest but I beg to differ I ain't impressed, you more trifling than a pregnant stripper If K-Rino respond to garbage, I'll mow your lawn You so boring you could make a dude in a coma yawn It's been a while since I let my pen, break a folder But like a dude who lost a hundred pounds, the wait is over You're still young but you're flow older than Abe Vigoda Smack you dead in the face with a case of soda Man, it's ridiculous to ask you to come and rap It's like the ventriloquist sitting on the dummies lap Your sk** will never come close to this Plus my catalogue's longer than a section 8 grocery list I'ma tryna teach you the game, hoping that you learn You want my crown, let's go a round like two u-turns You're feet ain't clean enough to run on my turf You're house so filthy you could sweep the rug up under the dirt It's time to mash so I'm attacking your pad, bro My lines: so over your head like a bad throw You wanna match, we can each drop 30 racks And I'ma take you to the cleaners like some dirty slacks I'm despised by these dishonourable guys Plus I'm dangerous like raggedy-a**ed carnival rides Everywhere I go, people wanna walk with me and trail a pro But you're respect is so low that your yes-man even tell you no I'll catch you, it don't matter where the Hell you go It's funny cause these clowns is watered down and still fail to grow See last year you was rocking the ma**es Now you in HGB parking lot rounding up baskets Meanwhile I'm lighting flames, your talent ain't quite the same Your rap sk**s fell off worse than Tiger's game Remain cool as I run a sharp pain through ya I got so much game I'll sell your own brain to ya I ain't forgot what you said, you gon' pay for your hatred I'll take the air out of your chest like I play for the Patriots I turn the heat high as it go, somewhere to burn worse And put and L on you on you every day like Lavern shirts I say a lot about myself but I can't say enough Cause I'm so real they give me change before I pay for stuff You on the internet, fronting and dissing like Man But you just faking, that ain't you, you catch fictional fans When I'm really fiending I open up a stranger's chest I'll catch an airplane from South Park to Bangladesh I pop domes for running your mouth, homes And your son keep asking your wife how come you got a blouse on I'm hanging every mic holder, 23 and older I can't get high cause I'm addicted to being sober Doing shows with K-Rino, you need rougher flows Cause I'ma shut the building down like it ain't up to code I stay snapping cause I know that keeps my fans happy I'll sell African medallions at a Klan rally All I see is a bunch of wannabe hot coons Bouncing on the stage in Peter Pan costumes I got a pack of mics for rappers who ain't acting right And after I beat you to d**h I might just beat you back to life I never lose my motivation out on these streets I'm still hungry like 10 obese people splitting a three-piece After I spit this, I'll have to murder the eyewitness Some of the things I did ain't even none of my business I'm in the rafters with hundred, fifty and twenty stackers I don't take sh** from no one like a friendly jacker Your punk card I'll pull yours like a rip chord While you roaching, I'm holding paper like a clipboard You know I go hard in the paint till the track dies So now you fronting like you got help on the back side You run up on me then it's slumber time You could never come behind K-Rino like 8 to the number 9 [Outro: K-Rino] Like 8 to the number 9, yeah Sniper, Lil C , K-Rino We Makin' Enemies everywhere we go I ran out of flow